Saturday, December 19, 2015

On This Day



This year is not like the last.

The memories of December 19, 2013 have become less vivid. I have been going through this month of December with joy and excitement for William's first Christmas. It's strange - the idea that this time of the year could ever really feel happy again.

Two years ago, the idea of feeling happy during the holiday season would not only have been unbelievable - it would have made me angry. Just as the happy people at the grocery store made me angry. How does the world dare go on so carelessly?

But here we are. Anya's loss is a part of us, but she is a happy part of our lives. That is something to remember, if I am ever unlucky enough to experience another difficult loss. The world can seem like a terrible place, but it will go on, and the terrible place will not be terrible forever.

Happy second birthday, dearest Anya.

Saturday, November 14, 2015

The Coroner's Report

This Wednesday, November 11, after nearly 23 months, the investigation into Anya's death was closed. I should note that I received the report only nine days after filing an official complaint about the delay, so there's probably a lesson here about the necessity of complaining to get things done.

Here's the body of the text (click to make this bigger)



A summary: Anya died of severe perinatal asphyxia (lack of oxygen). The pregnancy was adequately followed, given the information that was available at the time. While Anya's size and weight was normal, a couple of things suggested a delay in where the pregnancy should have been: her bone density was not what would have been expected, and the size of the placenta was small, which presented placental insufficiency (a side note: this may have been due to clotting, from an undiagnosed issue - see Kayleigh's post here).

The endotrachael intubation (placing a tube to help deliver oxygen) presented difficulties. The sole recommendation is for the birth centre to ensure that revival skills are maintained, particularly for intubation.

Well, here it is. It's over now. There's nothing else pending, nothing else to expect. Where do we go from here?

Some of the same old questions keep coming back, after reading this. Principal among those: what if we had been in the hospital?

But other questions are, at least, answered. There doesn't appear to be anything we could have done to have known that anything was wrong. I am satisfied that we made the best possible decisions with the information that we had.

The report gives us a smidge of closure. We know now that Anya was born at 6:58 AM, and died at 7:54 AM. She had all of 56 minutes of life in this world.

There are a few questions that I feel I should still strive to find answers to, but I am not sure that I have the heart to do the necessary followup to force answers:

  1. What possible reason can there be for a two page report to take 23 months to complete? 
  2. Why was Anya's autopsy conducted in Montreal rather than in Ottawa at CHEO? 
  3. Why was I not offered the option of staying with Anya in the ambulance and at the hospital?

The ball's in my court.

Friday, September 18, 2015

Imagined Life

William celebrated his half-birthday on September 12. Six months old, already. Having a child really skews your sense of time. I've heard it said that a newborn slows down your perception of time going by, and I would agree. And yet, I can't believe that six months have already gone by.

Watching William discover the world around him is wonderful. The sense of wonderment looking up at a tree as the wind blows. The genuine surprise and joy when he discovers his dad's smiling face when we play Peekaboo. The smiles and laughs he gives his cousin as she keeps him entertained.

When I see them, I often wonder how Anya and William would have interacted. What kind of (almost) two year old would she have been? Jealous of the attention William is now getting? Or perhaps overprotective of her little brother? 

That world is a nice place to imagine. And it makes me wonder about the people she would have met: the other children in her class; her best friend; her first boyfriend; her future spouse.The people that she would have really impacted, and who would have impacted her.

In this world, though, she won't get to meet them. They are still very real, of course, but they will go through life without ever crossing paths with her. They won't even know to be sad for losing what they came so close to getting. It makes me wonder about who in this world I might have met, throughout my life, had circumstances been just a little different.

I am grateful for how many people my beautiful daughter's short life has positively impacted. Can her legacy make up for the impact that she would have brought others? Somehow, I doubt it. But I hope so.

Saturday, July 11, 2015

Confessions

Alex and I have strived to be open and honest always on this blog. But there is something we have hesitated to share... the answer to what happened.

Officially, we are still waiting for the autopsy results and the coroner's report. However, during my pregnancy with William, our wonderful doctor went to lengths to communicate with the coroner and obtain what health-related information she could.

How did Anya die? Placental insufficiency. The placenta was too small.

With this information in hand, I was tested for high concentrations of anti-cardiolipin antibodies and the results were positive. Anticardiolipin antibodies can bind to blood platelets and create clots. We went forth with the assumption that small blood clots prevented the placenta from growing large enough to sustain Anya through birth.

This information hit me hard. I slept poorly for weeks. It struck my sense of identity. I had always thought of myself as healthy, and suddenly I didn't feel that way. My body had betrayed me. My body had betrayed Anya.

But my body didn't have to betray William. I was started on a treatment of anticoagulants.

A few months later, William arrived. Thanks to the treatment I received, he is here, sitting next to me and chatting in his own baby way as I type.

As I listen to William's babbling, I can't help but wonder if Anya's death saved William's life. And I wonder if Anya's death will allow me to live longer, as I continue to take anticoagulants. Another gift from Anya.

And now, we continue to wait for the coroner's report, unsure if it will bring any new information, if it will dredge up painful memories or if it will bring a new kind of closure.


Monday, July 6, 2015

Is This What Moving Forward Feels Like?

It's been a while since I have stopped to write a blog post...

At first I was busy with a newborn... I thought about the resemblance between William and Anya. I considered writing about everything we had the privilege to live with William that we missed out on with Anya... cuddles, breastfeeding, first smiles. But I didn't write about those things. The weeks went by and those thoughts drifted away.

Three months passed... Still I wasn't motivated to sit down and write. It occurred to me that I wasn't too busy, I just didn't feel like blogging. I was too enamoured with William, too happy in the present, to think of what might have been. I had this vague idea that I should feel guilty about that, but the truth is I didn't. William was here and Anya wasn't. It sounded too harsh to say out loud.

I have never felt so happy, so present to this moment. Knowing that life is fleeting, I appreciate it more. It's true, Anya isn't here. Sometimes, I find it hard to imagine what life would be like if she was... Because we wouldn't have William. And just maybe, I wouldn't appreciate all the wonderful things in life quite as much.

I could choose to feel guilty about these feelings... to berate myself for forgetting Anya, for moving on. Instead, I am choosing to view them as a gift. Anya isn't here, but her short life has changed me profoundly. The deep happiness I feel, the ability to live in the present moment are gifts from Anya. My daughter lives on, not only in my memory, but in me.

Now, when I look at a photo of Anya, when I walk into her room (now my office), the memories are sweet and loving.


Sunday, June 21, 2015

Father's Day - Take Two

We have come a long way since last Father's Day. At this time last year, we were out picking a gravestone for Anya. This year, we're picking boogers hanging from William's nose.

The road that led to the privilege of cleaning those boogers was a tough one. And today is a great day to pause and appreciate all that we've gone through over the last year.

First and foremost, I am so thankful and so proud of my lovely Kayleigh for facing all of the daunting fears that come with trying again after a loss; for keeping the lines of communication open between us, even through all of the anxiety and the other difficult moments; for putting her body through a second pregnancy in such a short period of time (almost like being pregnant for two years); and most of all, for being such a wonderful mother.

We celebrated the first anniversary of Anya's birth and death in December. A difficult time of the year was made better by all of the incredible support that we continued to receive from friends and family, even a year later. I can look back on this past holiday season with positivity, which is more than I could have really expected.

We also got to know how a successful pregnancy ends. Holding a crying baby. Then being hit with all of the sleep deprivation, fears and joys that come with being new parents. It's all been wonderful - knowing how being a father is supposed to feel. It's a hat I wear proudly.


Saturday, May 23, 2015

Life as it should have been

We have a ten-week old. It's still hard to believe.

I wake up, and every day, he's there. Awake. Smiling. Crying. Breathing.

Seeing him grow up so quickly is nothing short of amazing.  Not to say that being a parent has been a cakewalk - there have been plenty of difficult, frustrating, exhausting moments already. But seeing him get to know himself more and more day by day, becoming aware of his own body, his home, his parents... all so quickly... brings a joy and wonder that I hadn't felt in life before. He has the amazing super-power of being able to warm my heart with just a quick, beaming smile.

I am truly incredibly happy to have the chance to parent William. Incredibly happy.

Happy being the opposite of sad. Right?

We tend to think of these sorts of emotions as being all-or-nothing. You are happy, or you are sad. There is no Sad-Happy. At least, from what I remember from elementary school.

And yet, for as much as I feel happier than ever, there are many conflicting feelings of sadness. These are the wonderful moments we should have had with our daughter too. This is how it should have been, back in February 2014, rather than wondering how to cope without her.

I suspect that this sadness isn't going to go anywhere. We will probably always wonder about her firsts through her brother's firsts.

I don't see that as a negative - Anya is not a part of my life that I will ever want to put behind me. Her death is not an event I want to get over. I want to keep wondering, and imagining, and being sad about her loss, because it is an affirmation that she was here, and she mattered, and she had an impact. And that makes me happy. Happy-Sad, if you will.

Thursday, April 9, 2015

The Scary Thing About Happiness

I think I can honestly say I have never been so happy.

The baby blues have mostly passed. We are starting to gain confidence. Our bodies are adjusting to the lack of sleep. Breastfeeding is getting easier. Alex and I have found ways to make time for ourselves and each other. We have nothing to do except be together as a family and enjoy the tiny little person in our home - and he is so cute! 

That much happiness is also a scary thing... because it can't last forever. That's the human condition. We all know it, but we don't really know it until we lose someone who is close to us. Losing Anya forced me to pay attention to the impermanence of life and to the fleetingness of moments of perfect happiness like this one.

William is already growing so fast! He is getting that chubby baby look... a look that reminds me of my brothers as babies... my brothers who will turn 16 this month... time goes by so incredibly fast! We barely notice how quickly we are aging... then we die and it's all over... and that's if we're lucky enough to live a long life.

But the fear that gets to me most these days comes from knowing that at any moment someone close to me might die... something might happen to William or to Alex. Eventually something will happen to William and to Alex. Eventually something will happen to me.

Of course, if youth and health lasted forever, we wouldn't be as grateful for them... we wouldn't appreciate life as much. So how do we learn to accept that life always comes to an end...?

Happiness ebbs and flows as the years go by. No, this incredible happiness won't last forever, but it is here now, and eventually a new kind of happiness will replace it. I think maybe that's enough for me to accept the fear that always accompanies love and immerse myself in the joy of today.





Friday, March 27, 2015

Parenting a Newborn After Loss

Life with a newborn is intense. There is the lack of sleep, the breastfeeding struggles, the post-pregnancy hormones... Not to mention the overwhelming realization that life will never be the same. A new person has joined the family. A person who determines our schedule for us, needs our love and attention (almost constantly) and decides how much time we get to spend as a couple. For me, that last thing has been the hardest. Grieving the loss of Anya brought Alex and I closer together than ever. We became each other's solace and gave each other a reason to keep going. I have had to grieve the loss of most of that one-on-one time together. 

With all these changes and adjustments, I haven't been immune to bouts of uncontrollable crying and the baby blues. I admit, I have asked myself, What were we thinking? What did we get ourselves into? The first couple of weeks have been really tough... and that's a normal part of the post-partum period for many moms. The tricky part is allowing myself to feel that way. After losing Anya and knowing for certain how much I wanted a baby, it is difficult not to feel guilty about those feelings. But I remind myself that these feelings are normal and human. And I let the feelings come anyway. 

Between the fatigue and the tears, the moments of love and joy shine through. And slowly, the good moments are outnumbering the hard ones. I am gaining confidence and starting to find my footing. I can see the future of our little family start to come to life before my eyes.

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Our Second Birth Story

About a week before it happened, we knew when William would be born: March 12, 2015. It's quite a feeling, knowing that your child would be coming into the world "next Thursday". We knew it as a fact for a few days. Then, on the Wednesday, it wasn't looking so certain - the list of inductions, after all, can only function based on the hospital's availabilities, and it wasn't looking like they'd be able to fit us in. And so, we prepared for a Friday birth instead.

Until we got a call late in the evening, telling us to come in the morning after all.

We woke up on a beautiful Thursday knowing that this was the day (if we were lucky, and the labour was quick) that we would get to meet our son. There was a splendid, clear blue sky. It was a bit cold. And at around 9 AM, we left our home ready to become parents again.

Certain drives in life are a little bit scarier than most. This was one of them for me, I admit, though, that it's a lot less nerve-wracking when your spouse is not in active labour.

Shortly before 10AM, we walked in to the hospital. I remember thinking this is it. Kayleigh's sister Sarah was already there, and we made our way to the birth centre. The first step before an induction is to monitor the fetus for 30 minutes. And so, Kayleigh was hooked up in an examination room, and we heard the fast beating of William's heart, like a galloping horse, for just over half an hour. Our doula Victoria arrived, and a short time later, we were brought into the room that Kayleigh would give birth.

This is it! I kept thinking. 11AM went by, and no one was available to be with us just yet. Then came noon. Then 1. We paced around, chatted, had some lunch. Our spirits were good, but anxious to get started. It was terrific to have Victoria to explain to us the ins-and-outs of the hospital setting, and absolutely relieved quite a bit of anxiety. Finally, around 2PM, they were ready to start.

First came the fetal monitoring again. It was another long half hour. The doctor explained to us how inductions usually work - a medication needs to be used to dilate the cervix, allowing him to get in there with a hook to break the water / membrane.  This process could be very quick or very long (sometimes over 24 hours). Before starting this medication, he did an inspection. And to everyone's surprise, he asked for a hook.

Kayleigh was already at 4cm. And so it began. The nurses installed monitors to continuously read William's heartbeat. This was important to me, to us, but I can't tell you how much I came to hate them. A move from either mommy or baby could displace them enough to stop reading the heartbeat, which made me panic every time.

The contractions came gradually. They were manageable at first, with Kayleigh taking them in stride. I lost track of time, but it escalated from there fairly rapidly. Me and Victoria were taking turns applying pressure points.

Pressure points didn't seem to be enough after a little while. Kayleigh hopped in the bath. The pain was visibly becoming more and more intense. More intense than I had remembered Kayleigh feeling during Anya's birth. To see her in so much pain was really heartbreaking.

That pained look on her face, compounded with the fetal heart monitor that kept losing the heart beat, was enough to bring my anxiety to heights that I hadn't felt in over a year.

I stepped out of the bathroom a couple of times to take a few deep breaths and calm myself. Kayleigh was in good hands with Victoria. I remember thinking in that moment that hiring a Doula was the best possible thing we could have done. And I was equally thankful for having Sarah there to help me take a breath and calm down.

I stepped back in. Those minutes of pain in the bath felt like hours. But before you knew it, Kayleigh felt like she had to start pushing.

She went out of the bath, to the bed, and the doctor inspected her - She was at 9.5cm (10 cm being the target before she can start pushing). She tried her best, but it was easy to see that asking her not to push was like asking the impossible. But she kept trying.

After another few minutes that felt like an eternity, they were finally ready for her to push. At this point, they had replaced the monitors on Kayleigh's belly with monitors attached to William's head. So we could finally be assured that everything was accurate. Except when she started to push, his heart beat started to drop. More than it should. Below 90 beats per minute. The doctor told us that they would need to use the vacuum to get him out quickly.

At this point, I had almost convinced myself that this was looking like a repeat of last time. I really started to lose it. My wonderful wife somehow even found a moment to be worried about me. I had never been so scared in my life.

The vacuum didn't work on the first try, but on the second, here he was. At 6:51 PM. Crying. Loudly. Like me.

I went from feeling the scariest moment in my life to the happiest, just like that. What a beautiful sound. What an incredible moment. Together at long last.






Saturday, March 7, 2015

Countdown to the Birth of a Mother... Take 2

In 5 days or so, if all goes as planned, my labour will be induced.

Alex and I are taking the time to appreciate one last quiet weekend at home. Really, we would do without the extra sleep and jump into parenthood right this moment, if it weren't for the fact that each day in the womb allows William to grow bigger and stronger, preparing him for the challenge that lies ahead.

To me, the experience of childbirth is as much an emotional rite of passage as a physical challenge. Not only is it the birth of a baby, but the birth of a mother. Yes, in some ways, I am already a mother... but with William's birth I will become a mother again.

William's birth will be a very different from Anya's. The setting will be different: this time we are choosing to give birth at the Montfort Hospital. The use of medical technology will be increased: labour will be medically induced and William's heart rate will be monitored constantly. But most notably, Alex and I are different: Anya's death has transformed us, for better or worse... for better and worse. We love more heartily and appreciate life's gifts with ease. Yet we worry more quickly, and as parents we will have to fight the urge to be overprotective, so William might make mistakes, learn and flourish. Anya's death is not William's burden to bear.

I am planning for a natural birth; by this I mean I am not planning on an epidural or any other anesthesia to manage labour pains, unless this becomes medically advisable. This is important to me, as I want to fully be part of and share in this birth with William. I want to feel my body and feel William being born. I want to be fully present to each moment of his birth.

Yet beyond this aspect, my views of birth as a natural part of life have shifted. For countless women, birth is a physiological part of life. Their bodies can give birth to healthy babies without medical intervention. I don't know if this will be the case for me, so constant vigilance will be key... if William shows any signs of distress, I am ready to put my faith in the medical professionals who will surround us.

There is still so much we don't know about fetal development and birth. I didn't know this the first time I was pregnant. I had naively assumed that in the 21st century, childbirth was something we had down pat.

If signs of risk or distress arise, the doctor on call will make the best decision he or she can, with the information and experience he or she has. I know, from our experience with Anya and the past 37 weeks of William's gestation, that medical science isn't perfect. Doctor's don't all have the same opinions or approaches, but - like midwives - they are all educated professionals who have chosen to dedicate their careers to the well-being of mothers and babies.

I am not planning on a c-section, though many have asked us this question. This isn't a question of selfishness or pride. A c-section is not currently medically advisable in my case. Vaginal births are usually safer for mother and baby, though when risk factors or signs of distress arise, the balance of risks shifts and c-sections can become the best course of action.

If medical interventions, beyond the induction and planned monitoring and vigilance, become necessary I am prepared to let go of my planned natural birth and give William his best chance. Any mother faced with such a situation would be. But I know it will be scary, and it will hurt, not just physically, but emotionally as well. Though all that really matters to me is that William gets to come home, healthy and thriving, I would be sad to have him torn from me by a doctor, rather than gently bringing him into the world myself. The scar that would have to heal would be both physical and emotional. But that is OK.

We all want healthy births and healthy babies. That doesn't mean each person's experience of childbirth - each mother's hopes and dreams for the birth of her baby - will follow the same path. There is no single right way to give birth. An anesthetic-free birth isn't better than an epidural, a vaginal birth isn't better than a c-section. Each choice, each birth is as unique as mother and baby. As are all the choices we make every day of our lives.

Tuesday, March 3, 2015

Planning for Panic

William is almost here. I can see the finish line. Today marks 36 weeks and 2 days. Anya was born at 37 weeks and 2 days. I feel excited, but at the same time, the next few weeks are daunting, to say the least.

Past experiences tend to dictate your expectations when faced with the unknown. The second time you drive a car is a bit less scary than the first time - unless, of course, you got in a major collision the first time. In that case, I imagine you would be scared shitless. But you can mitigate that a bit, at least, by sticking to a safer environment - a parking lot, or a quiet street.

I'm not going to have a parking lot to practice in.

William's birth will happen whether I am ready for it or not. I might be just fine and able to give Kayleigh all of the support that she needs - but there's a very real chance that I won't. That's how we're approaching this birth: on the assumption that I will be completely useless.

In a way, this mindset relieves some anxiety, by forcing us to get other help. We've hired an excellent doula, who will be able to give Kayleigh all of the help that she might need. We'll also have Kayleigh's sister to lend a hand.

Looking at the birth in a more selfish way, though: there's only so much planning that can actually help me. Even if I know all of the meditative calming techniques on the planet, I can't know whether I'll know how to use them when I need them. Anxiety tends to prevent me from thinking correctly. There's no magic one-time drug I can take (or at least, not one that wouldn't make me drowsy). I might be in a state of complete panic, and unable to do anything about it.

But I will get through it one way or another. I know, deep down, that William will be fine. I just don't know that I'll be able to hold on to the comfort of that thought. As someone who likes to be in control, that scares me.

And at the end of the day, I am not the one having to give birth. I am not the one who will be born. Compared to what could happen to those two, my fears seem a bit trivial. I can only hope that I will be able to give my wife and son all of the help and attention that they deserve.


Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Fear and Surrender

Just a little over a month to go before we expect William to join us.

Some moments I feel a rush of excitement and love. I love William so much - as much as if he were already born and in my arms. Anya taught me the love of a mother, and in this moment I get to feel this love again!

Other moments, I am overcome with fear. Millions of mothers around the world go through the pains and anxieties of labour, knowing they will make it through whatever may come with a vigorous, crying baby.

Yet this has not been my experience.

It takes surprising concentration and mental acrobatics to equate the movements in my belly - so insistent they can be seen from across a table - to a warm baby, cooing in my arms. Even more challenging is associating the pains of labour with a little baby bundled in his car seat ready to come home for the first time.

There are no guarantees.

Yet William deserves a mother who believes in him.

And so, I give myself time and space to feel, to meditate and to imagine a future filled with love, tenderness and tiny toes to tickle. I try to let go and to believe that William will arrive safely.

William's fate is not in my control. I must surrender my fears and trust that William and I will make it through this together.

I can face this challenge.

Monday, February 2, 2015

Small Talk

First, a status update: William is 32 weeks along. We went for an ultrasound today, and everything looks perfectly normal (it's not usually something the ultrasound tech can tell you, but we had a physician doing it).

He's up to 3 pounds, 11 ounces. Keep it up, little guy. Six to eight weeks to go!

Now, lets talk about something I've been reflecting on... small talk.

Imagine yourself in this position: Your young colleague / neighbor / acquaintance announces a pregnancy. You bump into them in the lunch room, at a party, or waiting for the bus. So you chat. You ask them about the pregnancy: "When's the due date?", "Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"... "Is it your first?"

At that question, they suddenly hesitate. You might wonder why - "Is it your first" didn't seem like a hard question. It's a pretty straightforward 'Yes' or 'No', really.

It's incredibly easy for any well-meaning person to go down this conversational route - and in 99.5% of cases where you happen to ask that to someone who has had children, it won't lead to any awkward conversation.

But the 0.5% is out there.

I still hesitate when I'm asked. For me, the answer to 'Is this your first?' is almost always 'No - it's my second' - except, I confess, in situations where I don't feel like I could tell the story.

Saying 'No' doesn't necessarily lead to me delving in the story at all - more often than not, actually, the pregnancy questions stop there, and we move on to other conversation subjects. But sometimes i'll be asked how old my first is. "She would have turned one last month, but she died at birth".

That's a bit heavy for small talk, isn't it?

Here's the thing, though: it's important for me to acknowledge it. I'm not going to start wearing a t-shirt saying "My baby died! Ask me about it!", but if i'm asked directly, I will not hide it. We might one day live in a perfect world where every pregnancy ends with a healthy happy baby, but we're not there today. Small talk or not, I won't lie to preserve the appearance of everything always being okay, which might be what's generally expected in small talk.

I say this realizing that it's a bit hypocritical for me, who always responds "Good", when asked "How's it going?", to start ranting about small talk. It's not that I don't care about keeping folks generally at ease - it's that being honest about my daughter is more important to me.

Everyone has a story in life - It's interesting to wonder just how close I've come to learning other people's stories, just by asking the right questions.

Friday, January 2, 2015

A New Year, A New Challenge

Wednesday night, with tears in our eyes, we said goodbye to 2014.

2014 was the year of Anya.

January 1st, 2014, was our thirteenth day without Anya in our lives. A day we never expected would happen.

It was a year filled with firsts and anniversaries, soul wrenching pain and reminders of what we had come so close to having - a daughter - but had lost at the very last second.

2014 was a year of healing.

January 1st, 2014, we got out of bed - two days after burying Anya - we went about our day and we survived. What else could we do?

It was a year filled with tears and love. New shoulders to cry on appeared in unexpected places. Our love for one another grew stronger than ever, and we found a strength we never knew we had.

But most days still felt more like survival than living.

I want more for 2015.

I want to make life good again.

I want to love unreservedly. I want to stop being afraid that those I love will die too soon. Everyone dies. And it is always to soon. But I will dare to love them anyway.

I will love William fiercely - even though he can't fill the hole left by Anya - even though he too might die before me. William is here now, kicking me vigourously as I write. Today we are together. It may be all we have, but it is something.

I want to face my own mortality. I want to look at it, acknowledge it, thank it even. Without death, we would not be able to appreciate and enjoy life. And I want to live each day wholeheartedly, with gratitude, love and passion.

Death is waiting on the horizon of each one of our lives - and it might come sooner than expected - but it doesn't scare me. I will dare to enjoy life anyway.