This is a little heavy for Saturday morning, so read it when you’ve got a minute.
This morning when I woke up, the girls and Payman were still asleep. I lay there for a while. By my side, Azita’s little ribcage was rising and falling with steady breath. I could feel my own breath well, as the baby had crawled up on my chest and was sleeping there, her head laying close to my heart, but her body and feet curled around on the bed. She’s getting much longer these days.
She used to sleep like this all the time, but fit without touching the bed. The kid as turned me into a back sleeper. I know her tummy is hurting her when she needs to sleep this way.
I held my breath for a minute, since she was steadily rolling up and down with my own, and watched her tiny little back rise and fall.
Life is so fragile. I’m not one to share tragic stories but I was so affected by this one.
One of the mothers in an online group/forum that I am a part of has been expecting child and was in her 36th week last week. She had made it far enough along in the pregnancy, that save the birth, the worrying about weight and the pregnancy going well and all part was just about over.
She went in for an ultrasound because she had felt very little movement. Because of what they found, the doctors did an emergency c-section, but she was still expecting everything to be okay.
After three hours of intubation, her son’s lungs would still not inflate on his own. She said they were putting enough pressure in it that it should have inflated an adult’s lung (or that was the impression I got) and if, after three hours, it wasn’t happening, than there was nothing that could be done.
She asked to hold him. They took out the tube and she held him skin to skin, which she said immediately relaxed him and he seemed more comfortable. After ten minutes, he peacefully passed.
Her 4-year-old daughter went in and out of the room with their midwife at her comfort level but opted not to touch the baby. Even that part is heart breaking. I think she said she held him for another 30 minutes or so, and then her husband, and her rabbi came and did the naming ceremony before he passed.
Essentially, they think it was a rare genetic thing in which the lungs don’t develop and there was no way to predict it and also nothing to be done.
Lots of times you see people post stories about things that have happened to young children or babies or house fires and car accidents in the news, and honestly, I skip completely over the story if the headline seems to indicate its a story that will just make me sad because a child was mistreated or there was a terrible accident.
But somehow this story seemed worth sharing. I don’t know what it is. That it was just a misfortune of nature and so it seems a more poignant reminder of everything I have to be grateful for, whereas other news story type deals could have been avoided and invoke anger or dismay that they were allowed to happen?
Maybe it’s the thing of losing the baby after such a short time. It was just beautiful how she still held him on her chest and let him be warm and loved there– where babies are meant to be biologically after birth.
Not that one should ever spend a long time thinking on hypothetical situations like these, but if I were to lose a child, it seems more tragic the more immediate it would be. I would have rather seen Azita’s three years of energy and life, that has enriched our lives so much, than practically nothing at all.
The mother also has severe chemical sensitivities, to the point that if they gave her the wrong drug or she is around the wrong chemical, she can go in to anaphylaxis. The hospital posted her birth plan (she had been planning a home birth if possible) and only let employees who were not wearing scents and perfumes come into her room, as well as briefing everyone about what had happened and her special situations.
Good for them. When I first heard what happened, one of my first thoughts was that I hope she was treated well with all of her needs.
Maybe the story just puts things into perspective for me, and if there is any reason to ever think about tragic things, that might be it. Ada’s troubles are nothing compared to that ordeal. Breath is the most vital thing to life. Humans can adapt to a great many situations, but we have to be able to breath.