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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.