Klein Family

Nov. 29 - Random Updates

2011-11-29T23:16:00.003-06:00

Okay, I've been horrible about keeping this blog updated. But to capture some random bits of news ...

Elliot will turn one in two days! I can't believe it's been a year. That might warrant a blog post on its own, but we'll see if I can get my act together. If nothing else, I suppose I should at least post pictures of his first taste of cake once I get those off my camera.

Right now, Elliot has three bottom teeth with a fourth one on its way and two teeth on top that are fully in, two that are halfway in and two more that are just starting to break through his gums. He's been a bit grumpy with all those pearly whites filling in. And he likes to grind his teeth sometimes!

Elliot is starting to really pick up on signing. He signs "more," "sleep" and "all done." He also signs "down" but he'll say it as well. He says "Mommommommom" and "Daddaddaddadddad" and tries to say "Jonathan" too. Beyond that, he babbles an awful lot and I suspect his vocabulary is going to explode once he figures it out a bit more.

Elliot is usually pretty entertained by Jonathan, and started walking around 10.5 months. (I think he was motivated to keep up with his big brother.) He was pretty stable on his feet right off the bat and by November 6th could stand up on his own (no toys, furniture or adult legs to cling to) and even squat and stand again.

In September Jonathan started preschool Friday mornings and he gets to ride the bus for that. I thought he'd be thrilled, but he's not terribly excited about it. He also started gymnastics Saturday mornings and he absolutely loves that! You'd think he'd be tuckered out after the workout he gets, but sometimes he manages to skip a nap those days. The video below is from one such evening.

And here are some pictures ...

Someone likes to ham it up for the camera.

Jonathan's preschool teachers

First day of preschool

Halloween at gymnastics.

Someone discovered the dryer is a good hiding place.

Feb. 28 - Pics and Video

2011-02-28T14:44:00.002-06:00

I head back to work this coming Thursday. I'm really going to miss spending all day with my little guys, but at least I know they'll be in good hands. Considering I don't have much time left to soak up Elliot's toothless smiles and Jonathan's squealing, I'm not going to spend much time on this post, but wanted to share some more recent photos and a little video of Elliot. Enjoy!

I just love those big brown eyes. : )

Jonathan has one of the most contagious smiles. Being in the middle of the terrible twos, we don't see as much of it as we used to, but it warms my heart every time it flashes across his face.

Elliot looks like he's socking Jonathan in the first one photo above. Hopefully it'll be a long time before either starts any genuine slugging.

Jonathan is always eager to help with Elliot -- wanting to get me a fresh burp cloth, and even asking to have Elliot sit on his lap. Hopefully he'll help keep an eye on the little guy when I go back to work.

And here's a video of Elliot enjoying some tummy time.

Feb. 13 - 7 Quick Takes (Vol. 1)

2011-02-13T09:02:00.004-06:00

The longer I put off composing a new post, the more overwhelming the task becomes. If I'm going to take the time to capture my thoughts in writing, I usually feel the need for them to be somewhat neat and organized -- presenting events in chronological order, having a prominent message or at least tying together various ideas with an overarching theme.

But ideas continue to accumulate and I just don't have the time to sort through them the way I used to. Considering all the draft posts that will likely never be completed, I think I'm suffering from blog stuttering -- too many ideas trying to get out at once, and therefore nothing intelligible is coming out. Well actually nothing at all is coming out on the blog because I'm just not posting ...

But it's a new year (quite a ways into the new year, I know) and I'm ready for a new approach. Rather than take the time to sculpt every post into something flowing and coherent, I'm going to acknowledge that this brain is pretty scattered now, so sometimes I'll simply grab a fistful of random-ish thoughts and present them in whatever harmony or juxtaposition they offer each other.

I have to give partial credit to my sister, Shelli, for this inspiration. She's started using "7 Quick Takes" on her blog. That seems like a good solution to this problem, so here goes ...

- 1-

December 1, 2009 was the day Chris and I happily brought Garrett home from Saint Marys, thinking he was well on his way down the road to recovery and that we had a possibly challenged, but relatively normal, life ahead of ourselves ... ahead of him. How odd that December 1, 2010 is the day we welcomed Elliot into the world -- the little brother who wouldn't be here if Garrett still was.

- 2 -

What a surprise. I really expected that when Elliot was born, in addition to all the typical joy that accompanies a long-awaited birth, my grief would also be all the more poignant in contrast. Instead, on the day he was born a deep sense of contentment began to take root. I fell asleep that night with a such a light and thankful heart. I honestly didn't think I would feel that kind of genuine happiness again.

I've only had a few emotional moments thinking about Garrett since I've been able to hold Elliot in my arms. On my second night in the hospital, I dreamed that I came across the cream blanket with brown puppies that I used most often with Garrett. It was folded on the floor, looking like new, in an empty room in our house, and the weight of the realization that it should be well worn by now just tore at my heart. It was just a blanket, but its pristine condition represented utter hopelessness, futility and loss.

I woke up just moments before a nurse brought Elliot in for a feeding. I was disoriented enough that the tears didn't come right away, but as soon as the nurse left, the clash of my soul aching for Garrett and rejoicing over Elliot was just overwhelming and I had a hearty sob.

- 3-

At the hospital, Jonathan kept calling Elliot baby Garrett, and we'd explain that, no, this is baby Elliot. He finally asked, "Where's baby Garrett?" We said he's with Jesus in heaven, which was apparently a sufficient response for Jonathan, as he was quickly off playing with some new toy. But with Jonathan or other family members slipping and calling Elliot Garrett, it didn't even nudge me in the direction of being sad.

I can see pictures of Garrett, talk about him, and even pull out stuffed animals that were intended for him with only the love I have for him bubbling to the surface. The pain that had permeated everything to some degree before is keeping its distance, like it was all just a bad dream ... usually.

- 4 -

All that said, when December 11th came, we wanted to spend it as a quiet day at home. I had thought I'd want to go through Garrett's memory box and reread all the sympathy cards we received. I remember how some of them were particularly touching, and I wondered what I'd think reading them now with a year's added perspective. One had commented that we would one day find our "new normal," and I think we have now.

But when the 11th finally arrived, I didn't want to go through the box. I was content to quietly remember Garrett, but didn't feel compelled to relive so much.

I think that's the biggest change. I read somewhere that the loss of a child can result in post traumatic stress disorder, and while I don't know whether I had that necessarily, a good number of symptoms certainly made an appearance at one point or another. The "recurrent re-experiencing of the traumatic event" is one that has all but disappeared since Elliot's birth.

And some might expect the "traumatic event" to simply be Garrett's death, but I lost much, much more sleep over memories of our experience in the ER with all the pain the poor boy had to suffer. His death made all that he endured there, and with subsequent procedures, seem entirely pointless. Why should he have to go through all of that only to die before having a chance to experience any joy or love? If he had lived long enough to know some happiness, there would have been some redemption. Maybe that pain would have been worth it, but he died before there was any such redemption.

Anyway ... aside from writing about it now, those thoughts haven't been plaguing me as they had been, and that has been a huge relief. There is no answer to that "Why?" but my mind would return to it constantly. Now it's sufficiently occupied with the new addition to our family most of the time.

- 5-

Maternity leave with a toddler during the winter can be tough. Jonathan still goes to Carol's once (sometimes twice) a week and his aunt Jean's once a week primarily to keep somewhat of a routine with that. I'll admit that I cherish the one-on-one time I have with Elliot on those days as an added bonus.

When it's just me and the two boys, though, Jonathan keeps asking if he can go outside. He would climb on the coffee table, the back of the couch, and his Fisher Price car ramp. I felt like I was spending all day peeling him off the walls, so I finally asked Chris to take down a slide that was stored in the garage so we'd have something that he could climb on. That helped, and I've been surprised at how much time he'll spend it.

He used to be a morning napper, too, but in January started fighting it so much I'd spend two hours trying to get him to stay put in bed and finally give up because I'd have to tend to Elliot. One day he fell asleep in his high chair after lunch, and another day he fell asleep under his slide in the early afternoon, so I finally figured out we'd all be better off if nap time simply moved to around 1 p.m. Now it usually goes pretty smoothly.

- 6-

Jonathan is also surprising me with how clever he is. For quite a while now, we've been reading five books before nap time or bedtime. Sometimes he'll try to sneak more in, and we'll say, "Well, if you want these two, you need to put two of the other ones back because you already have five." He'll still try to work out getting all seven, but eventually put two back.

More recently, though, when we point out that he has too many, he'll count them saying, "No. One, two, three, four ... (pause) ... six, seven, eight, nine, FIVE!" How many two year olds would think to skip a number in a sequence so he can move it to the end and try to convince his parents there are really five books when there are nine?

- 7 -

Elliot has that cherub baby look going for him now, so here are a few pictures. : )

And not to leave Jonathan out, here he is decorating himself with stickers.

Dec. 1 - Elliot Klein

2010-12-09T21:13:00.001-06:00

I've been too busy soaking up quality time with Jonathan and Elliot to write much of a post, but I wanted to at least get the basic information and pictures up.

Elliot Gerald Klein was born on December 1 at 7:57 a.m., weighing 8 pounds and measuring 21 inches. He's been a very mellow baby, and so far the transition to a household of four has been going well. Jonathan doesn't seem to mind him too much, although he has asked me to put Elliot in the crib a few times. But he's also brought a blanket over for Elliot when he's heard him crying, saying "That will help him to feel better."

I hope to get some more pictures up soon (they change so quickly at this age), but for now here are some from the first few days.

Nov. 12 - Would Be Garrett's First Birthday

2010-11-12T22:02:00.001-06:00

One year ago today, we welcomed our precious Garrett Michael Klein into the world. Who could have known then that he'd only be with us for four short weeks?

The day was a little more difficult than I was expecting. I think I figured the birthday wouldn't be so bad, since that had been such a happy occasion. I imagine Dec. 11, the one year anniversary of when Garrett passed away, will be worse. So I didn't think too much about the birthday beforehand, but once it was here, it was hard not to remember everything from that day.

When I arrived at work, I thought about how this time one year ago, Garrett wasn't even an hour old. My lower half was still numb from the scheduled C-section, but soon enough Chris and I were adoring our little boy -- inspecting his tiny fingers, observing how he had my hair and nose, and marveling at how easily he took to nursing. What a little wonder. We called relatives to announce Garrett's arrival and eagerly waited for visitors to come share in our joy.

As I thought about how excited we were, how perfect Garrett seemed, how complete life felt, the dramatic contrast of what we experienced on that day and what we have been through since was a bit overwhelming. I wasn't a complete wreck, but I had my share of moments throughout the day and went through quite a few tissues.

I didn't take the day off of work, and I think having that distraction helped -- although my head was kind of a mess. I forgot how exhausting it is to get through a day with such a heavy heart.

Rain and snow fell steadily in Rochester, and was continuing in Lake City by the time we got home. It seems somewhat appropriate and poetic for it to be so dreary outside today.

Remembering, loving and missing you, Garrett, today and every day.

July 15 - Ultrasound

2010-09-10T05:44:00.000-05:00

Eventually, I'll get caught up with these blog posts. (At least, I keep telling myself that ...)

So we had the big ultrasound on July 15, when I was a touch over 19 weeks. We came to Rochester to have the high-level ultrasound done and also to meet with a genetic counselor.

I will say that it was a little weird going back to Mayo in Rochester as a patient. I mean, I work at Mayo, but I have my routine of taking the bus in, going to my office (which isn't in a patient care building), working on the computer and going to meetings, and then heading home again on the bus. When we drove into the Damon parking ramp, I noticed the license plates from varying states, from Florida to California. And as we looked for a good spot, I sized up how far away the door to the elevators was and noted that there wasn't ice on the ramp leading to it like there had been last time.

It wasn't until then that I realized the last time we had been in the ramp was for Garrett's appointments on Dec. 10, the day before he died. Ugh. And now we were here to hopefully get good news about the health of the new baby we were expecting. Kind of an odd mix of emotions.

It was also kind of odd having the genetic counselor, nurses and doctor give their condolences and apologize for having to ask about Garrett. In this context, I had no problem being matter-of-fact about what happened, though. We were there to get some assurances that this baby was healthy, and I understood that our history was important for them to know what to look for. It seemed like they expected us to have a difficult time with it, though, and it was strange having to explain that we were happy to be there for this baby and focusing on him or her right now. (Right now at these appointments, that is. Believe me, I still think about Garrett plenty.) I suppose it's better for them to err on the side of being more sympathetic, though, rather than risk being insensitive to a mom who might be having a tough time with the circumstances.

Anyway, the genetic counselor took our family history and asked a bunch of questions and told us what we had expected to hear -- that what happened with Garrett was a rare, fluke thing and there's no reason to be concerned about some hereditary condition affecting this baby.

The ultrasound also went well. Interestingly, they seemed to look at everything they looked at with Jonathan. I had started out in Rochester with Jonathan, and then switched to Wabasha around 18 weeks because I wanted to have a water birth and that's the only place in SE Minnesota that does those. He ended up being delivered via C-section, but I like my midwife enough that I wanted to keep going there with future pregnancies.

Now I can't help but wonder whether the ultrasound I had with Jonathan and this baby were standard for Rochester, in which case they probably would have discovered Garrett's condition early on if I had been seen there, or if the doctor I had with Jonathan felt compelled to order a high-level ultrasound for him and just didn't tell me. I know when I gave her my family history, I mentioned that my grandma had a stillborn daughter with spina bifida. The doctor thought that was far enough removed that it probably wouldn't be a risk for me, but still told me to take some extra folic acid to be on the safe side, so perhaps she would have wanted to be more thorough with the ultrasound as well. Who knows.

We told the ultrasound tech right off the bat that we wanted to know whether we were having a boy or girl. I was hoping she would tell us right away, but I suppose she wanted to get the critical shots out of the way first. We saw the baby yawn and wave a hand, watched red and blue color splotches flowing through the skull and breathed a sigh of relief in hearing it looked perfectly normal.

Finally at the end, she asked again, "So, you want to know what it is?" We nodded and she showed us that it's a boy! At least she says it's a boy. She did it so fast, and I couldn't see what was what with my own eyes, so I'll have to take her word for it. With Garrett, the ultrasound tech took a little more time and I could see the male anatomy clear as day. This time, the printout still looks like a mysterious assortment of shapes to me.

When I heard it was a boy, I grinned and thought, "Oh, that'll be nice that Jonathan can still have a younger brother to do 'boy things' with." But the visions that then fluttered through my head of Jonathan and his younger sibling building forts and climbing trees were bittersweet, because those daydreams originally involved Jonathan and Garrett.

After the ultrasound tech left, the doctor came in and looked at the baby's head again to see the blood flow. He explained how we would see a large mass if the baby had a vein of Galen malformation, as Garrett had. He also explained that the heart is under added stress even in utero with that condition (which I hadn't heard before in any of the research we had done), so there could also be fluid buildup around the heart and lungs, and he didn't see any of that with this little guy. From everything we had heard before, we really didn't think this baby would have any issues, but it was still good to get that reassurance.

Losing a baby takes a lot of the magic out of pregnancy, though. A woman on an infant loss support site I visit summed it up well in that we have "lost our pregnancy innocence." All the facts and reasons why things should work out well can't make us forget the reality that it's ultimately a gamble. Nothing is guaranteed. I try not to dwell on that notion, but it's always there to some degree -- posing challenges in trying to pick a name, talk to Jonathan about the new baby (will this one stick around?), or thinking about getting the house ready.

But I guess I feel a little more confident the more I feel the baby move. For the first few weeks, it would feel just like a gentle rolling every now and then. More recently, I've been getting full-blown kicks and punches. One was so forceful, it actually made me yelp! Sometimes this munchkin keeps me awake with all his dancing about, but I appreciate those reminders that he's healthy and active.

July 5 - Fourth of July Weekend

2010-08-29T00:59:00.000-05:00

Still catching up ...

We took advantage of the long Fourth of July weekend to make a trip out to visit my Grandma Rossing in Ellendale. It's about a two-hour drive, and Jonathan handled it fairly well. The only downside was that he didn't fall asleep for the one nap he takes during the day until we were about twenty minutes from Grandma's. I thought he'd sleep through us bringing him inside, but nope. He woke up and was not interested in resting anymore.

We visited for a little while before Chris and my uncle Mike (who was Jonathan's new buddy for the day) took Jonathan up the street to the park so that Grandma and I could do some work pulling together the family history and scanning stacks and stacks of photos. Grandma will be 88 this October, and she has so many precious stories from the Rossing, Anderson and Jacobson sides of the family that I don't want to be lost when her time on earth is over.

Thankfully, she had already put together comprehensive family trees years ago, and we saved a lot of time by just making copies of those. But it took hours to scan photos and document who was in each one, and I still wound up taking a couple armloads of albums home to continue scanning. At least now I can identify who the people are.

Chris, Mike and my honorary aunt Renita did a wonderful job of keeping Jonathan occupied after his trip to the park so he'd stay out of our temporary work area. Jonathan's John Deere Tractor movie helped for a while as well. And I guess he did eventually take a better nap, too.

There aren't enough hours in a day to complete a task like that, though, and I feel like I've only explored the tip of the iceberg. In addition to being able to recognize some ancestors, I also managed to capture a few memorable family facts and events, but I know Grandma has thousands of stories of her childhood, her parents, and my grandpa's parents, so I'll probably need some more trips and/or phone calls to feel like I've got a good grasp of them.

Grandma Rossing, Uncle Mike, Jonathan and Mindi

Grandma Rossing, Mindi, Jonathan and Chris

Although we could have made it back home the same night, I knew there was a Holiday Inn with an indoor water park in Owatonna, and I thought that would be a fun experience for Jonathan. We haven't stayed over at a hotel with him before, but I have a couple of friends with kids who are about the same age, and they've said their kids think it's such a treat to stay over somewhere. With that, I had kind of high expectations.

I was surprised that Jonathan did not want to stay in the room. As soon as we entered, he kept trying to escape back out the door. We had brought his pack'n'play, but since the room had a king-size bed, we ended up just letting him sleep between us instead of hauling the pack'n'play in and messing around with putting that together. We don't have a king-size bed at home, so I have to say those things are huge! While telling Chris goodnight, I felt like I was calling out to someone in a different zip code.

The next morning, Jonathan still just wanted to leave. We had breakfast in the restaurant attached to the Holiday Inn (which had the best pancakes I've ever tasted, and I still cannot believe Jonathan wouldn't eat them), and then finally got Jonathan to settle down with the promise of going to the water park. I hadn't mentioned the water park to him yet, because I knew he'd be antsy to go there, and he was restless enough as it was.

Well the water park redeemed the experience for him. I was a little surprised that he didn't want to go into the deep end of the pool with us, where we could toss him in the air and let him splash as we caught him again. Any time we strayed away from a depth where he could touch, he'd say, "No! I walk!"

It was the first time trying out the new swimsuit I bought him, which has flotation strips sewn into the top, so he had a little more freedom to move about on his own without us "saving him" all the time. We still had to stay near him and keep him generally upright when he tried to swim, but he could at least jump around to his heart's content without mom and dad ruining his fun.

"No. I walk!"

On our way home, we stopped in Kasson to visit with Chris' sister, Dawn, and her kids. Jonathan enjoyed seeing his cousins, Brandon and Brianna, and got a kick out of playing with Brandon's tent in particular.

You would think a little guy would be worn out after all of that, but he was still full of energy when Chris decided to get a bon fire going. Chris treated him to a few rides in the wheelbarrow and let him haul a couple of small logs (or big sticks, depending on how you look at it) over from the wood pile.

Jonathan spent the remaining daylight running around the yard and squealing with all the delight and enthusiasm you could ever hope to hear from a toddler -- mostly while Chris chased him and occasionally tossed him in the air. When the sun finally set, we sat around the fire and ate some popcorn while we waited for the fireworks to start appearing.

By the time we began hearing the fireworks (we couldn't necessarily see all of them, since they were being set off from down in the valley in Lake City), Jonathan was so wiped out, he was actually asking to go inside and go to bed. That's a first! In all honesty, the only ones we could see very well from our place were the biggest ones that made it above the bluff, but once those started popping up, Jonathan was willing to fight to keep his eyes open, and he kept asking for more. He eventually fell asleep on Chris' shoulder, though. What a night.

Now for the barrage of photos ... Maybe I'm posting too many, but I get the mother's kick of endorphins when I see that unabashed smile and the unrestrained joy in his eyes. So call it self indulgent.

June 10 - Como Zoo

2010-08-24T00:34:00.001-05:00

Yes, I'm writing about June 10 in the wee hours of the morning on Aug. 24. I have a lot of catching up to do! I don't want to lump all of the events into one enormous post, though, so I'll get to them a little at a time. And here we go ...

June 10 was a Thursday I took off to hang out with Jonathan, since Jean needed the time to prepare for her eldest son's graduation party. Wanting to make the most of a weekday off with Jonathan, I packed him up in the van, tossed the Signing Time: Zoo Train movie in the DVD player and headed up to the cities to have lunch with my mom ("Mamo") and grandma ("Nana"). We had a great visit and enjoyed Grandma's delicious chicken salad (I love chicken salad), and afterwards Mom joined Jonathan and I for a trip to Como Zoo.

I'm not sure why, but Jonathan didn't seem quite as interested in the animals there this time. We had taken him once last summer as well. Maybe it was because there wasn't much of a crowd. He seems to get more engaged if there are more people around -- to a point, anyway. Or maybe it was just because he's more mobile now and prefers to be on the move.

But a couple of the highlights that held his attention for a while were the monstrous orangutan carrying around a baby orangutan and the puffin swimming in place right near the exhibit window. Diego's orangutan and puffin rescue movies are a couple of his favorite, so that might have had something to do with it.

In any case, he also got a kick out of the umbrella Mamo bought for him and had a blast on the rides at Como Town! He's so small, he was only able to go on the little cars and the train, but he was thrilled with those and went on each three times.

Once the train started moving, he kept saying he wanted to sit somewhere else (in the engine, caboose, or any one of the other cars), and I'd tell him that we couldn't change seats while the train was moving, but we could switch once the train stopped. So when the ride was over, we'd get out and he'd walk to a different seat, but then ultimately ask to go back to the last open car. I'd ask him a few times if he was sure, because we'd have to stay there once the train started moving again. He'd affirm that, yes, he wanted to sit there ... but then, of course, as soon as we were on our way, he'd want to switch. What a character!

I nearly swiped his umbrella the morning we had four inches of rain in Lake City, because I couldn't find our big ones. Thankfully, the rain had just about stopped by the time we were heading out. But if it had still been so heavy that I couldn't see my hand in front of my face, I figured nobody would see the mini-umbrella either!

Here Jonathan was exclaiming, "All aboard!" while driving his car.

As always, Jonathan loved getting to spend time with Mamo, and talked about the zoo "adventure" for days.

June 20 - Memorial Day Weekend Recap

2010-06-20T21:17:00.004-05:00

Yes, Memorial Day weekend was a while ago. I'm starting to think that if I blog about something within three weeks of it happening I'm actually doing pretty well ... And being without Internet service at our house for a week has made it difficult to do anything online. (That was painful. What? I have to wait to find out how to keep house finches out of my bluebird houses? How am I supposed to figure out how to make country style ribs without the Internet? No email at home? Ahg!)

While thinking about what fun thing to do with Jonathan over the holiday weekend, we considered visiting the zoo or a water park, but ultimately decided on taking him to the Minnesota Children's Museum. I told him Friday that we'd be going on an adventure the next day, partly because we didn't actually make up our minds to go there until Saturday morning and I didn't want to be too specific about what we'd be doing, but also because Diego is referred to as a "rough and tough adventurer" in the Go, Diego, Go! theme song and I knew he'd have a general idea of what an adventure was.

Well, that was all he'd talk about Saturday morning. "Going on adventure, Mom. Eat breakfast, then put shoes on, then go on adventure. Yeah." Of course his excitement didn't translate into getting dressed and out the door in a timely manner. But we managed to get there shortly after noon, having stopped to eat at Jimmy John's on the way. We even ate at a table outside and watched airplanes zoom by overhead. Jonathan thought that was a real treat, too.

I think Jonathan viewed anything that was new and different as being part of his adventure: parking in a parking ramp, walking down the sidewalk in "the big city," seeing all the tall buildings, and crossing the street where there was a stop light.

We purchased our tickets, and the cashier asked whether we'd been there before. I answered no (well, I'd been there as a kid myself, but that was ages ago), so he started to go over the layout. I was putting my wallet back together, though, and got distracted when I caught a glance at his name on the receipt: Garrett. It was even spelled the same, with two ts. He had dark hair and a nice smile. I looked for his name tag to double check. Yup, Garrett. My heart gave a little squeeze of affection for this stranger for having such a precious name.

Then we were off ...

Balancing Act

In the first room we visited, the Balancing Act exhibit, we stopped at a table near the entrance that had a few tops on it. Jonathan watched us spin a couple, and gave it a try himself, before taking a good look around and realizing he was in a giant playground. He was strutting around like quite the happy camper when he began to understand what his adventure was going to involve.

Our World
In the Our World exhibit, Jonathan enjoyed trying on different hats (although he was less interested in the coats and footwear that went along with the costumes), delivering letters, shaking a maraca and dancing to Smash Mouth's "All Star," listening to his heartbeat, and driving a bus! As great as all that was, though, he was pretty enamored with the conveyor belt he could turn to move dishes from a dining area to a kitchen. I think he did that about six or seven times before we convinced him to come see what other things the museum had to offer.

World Works
I think Jonathan could have spent all day putting ping pong balls in the various tubes and watching where they'd go. To be honest, I probably could have too. It took a while to figure out how to get a ball to the top tube in the water pressure feature, but we eventually got it. And Jonathan enjoyed sending boats down the chute even when he didn't have a partner to race against.

Dinosaurs
Jonathan was scared of the dinosaur exhibit at first. When he saw the Tyrannosaurus Rex, he stopped dead in his tracks and started backing up into me. He was put somewhat at ease when Chris and I explained that it was only pretend, and touched the big teeth to show him he didn't need to be afraid. He still wasn't a huge fan, though. Other parts of the exhibit included tunnels, slides, and friendlier-looking dinosaurs that Jonathan enjoyed more.

Habitot®
The Habitot® exhibit is really geared toward toddlers, with plenty of things to climb on, sunflowers to spin, nooks to hide in, and a cargo net to scale. I was really impressed with how well Jonathan did on the cargo net, and shouldn't have been surprised that he'd decide he was just as capable of going up the slide as well.

Earth World
Apparently crawling through logs is a big thrill for toddlers, too. Jonathan and another little boy kept going through this one over and over again. They'd start at opposite ends, though, and couldn't quite figure out how to get past each other. Jonathan also has a soft spot for animal puppets and porcupines (at least those in his storybooks -- probably because I call each one a "prickly, pokily PORCUPINE!" and shower him with tickles when we see them), so he was over the moon for the porcupine puppet he found.

Earth World
Hiding out in the beaver dam was another highlight of the day. That combined with checking out a giant turtle shell, grabbing plastic tadpoles in a stream, playing peek-a-boo with another little boy, and crawling through ant tunnels helped make the Earth World exhibit one of the favorites. And of course the hand dryer was just as interesting as the other features.

Rooftop ArtPark
The Rooftop ArtPark had a number of areas to check out, but Jonathan was mostly interested in the water (he takes after his mom) -- both the drinking fountain and the stream where he could paint rocks with the water.

After being there for three hours, I think we were all pretty exhausted. Thankfully Jonathan was interested enough in getting some orange juice that he didn't complain at all about leaving. And he talked about his adventure on the way home, that night, and the rest of the weekend. As a parent, it's awfully satisfying to see your little guy have so much fun.

May 29 - Jonathan and Baby Talk

2010-05-29T02:23:00.001-05:00

Lately, Jonathan has been enjoying reading Mercer Mayer's The New Baby, and when we talk about the baby, he'll pat my midsection and give it a kiss. (Hopefully such loving gestures will continue after the baby arrives.) But, somewhat surprisingly, he hasn't mentioned anything about Garrett or "baby brother" when we talk about the baby. It'll be interesting to see how he processes everything as the due date approaches, and what he'll think of the baby coming home and staying home this time.

Since Jonathan and I both see Sharon Riester, and he was due for his two-year well-baby visit the same time I was due for my second prenatal appointment, we rolled our checkups into one. He had accompanied me for most of my prenatal appointments with Garrett, so it wasn't entirely new to him. And I told him before hand that Sharon would put a wand on my tummy to listen to the baby's heart beat. When Chris got home from work later that day, Jonathan told him that he got two stickers at the clinic, a tractor and Thomas the Tank Engine. And then he told Chris he got to "listen to my baby." I thought it was sweet that he'd refer to the baby as his baby.

While we were eating dinner the next night, I encouraged Jonathan to eat his pasta to fill up his tummy. He stretched back and lifted his shirt to pat his belly and said, "My baby in the tummy." I tried to explain that little boys don't have babies in their tummies. Only mommies have babies in their tummies. But he was adamant that he had a baby in his tummy, too. Then he took a spoonful of applesauce and tried to feed it to his bellybutton.

May 22 - Big News

2010-05-22T12:51:00.002-05:00

I've been thinking about a few lines from John Mayer's song "Wheel" lately:
And if you never stop when you wave goodbye
You just might find if you give it time
You will wave hello again
You just might wave hello again

With that, Chris and I are happy to share that we are expecting another addition to our family in late November or early December. The due date is Dec. 7, but since it'll be another planned C-section, this munchkin will most likely be born some time the week before that.

Having been thoroughly assured that Garrett's condition was a rare (approximately 1 in 3 million), unexplainable, but nonhereditary thing, we have no reason to think this little blessing will be anything other than perfectly healthy. Of course, another baby could never replace Garrett ... When he passed away, though, we not only had the grief of losing a child, but we also were sent reeling by how far our plans and dreams for a family had been knocked off course. As parents, I don't think we'll ever fully get over losing him, but it feels good to take a step toward getting our vision for a family back on track. And, honestly, I'm thankful that the timing of this little one's arrival will offset some of the rough memories of last Thanksgiving and Christmas.

So here's to a joyous holiday season, a house filled with baby sounds and burp cloths, early sibling affection and rivalry, and nights of sleep sacrificed for diaper changes and snuggles. This year, we'll actually get a Christmas tree and pull out all our decorations. And if we're really on top of things, maybe we'll even send out cards wishing everyone a happy New Year.

May 20 - Happy Birthday Jonathan!

2010-05-20T21:44:00.004-05:00

Last Saturday, May 15, was Jonathan's second birthday. A couple weeks earlier, I told him that he had a birthday coming up and we'd have a party for him with cake and presents, but he was more interested in hearing who all would be at the party. I'd name all the family members I thought would likely make it, and his smile would grow bigger and bigger. Every day after that, he'd recite to us who all would be coming to his birthday party.

With thanks to my sister-in-law, Pam, for lending me her cake decorating set and letting me try out her great cake and frosting recipes, I made a fairly decent Blue's Clues birthday cake, if I do say so myself. And it survived untouched almost until we sang Happy Birthday. But, sure enough, our little guy got close enough to give it a little poke. (You'll notice the "a" in "Birthday" is a bit disfigured. That's rather minor, though.)

Jonathan was so interested in playing with all of his visitors, though, he didn't want to be interrupted to have cake and ice cream or open presents. I guess he has his priorities in order. Below you can see his somewhat listless expression of, "Ah, man, I'd rather be out running around ..." Thankfully, it was a beautiful day and he got to ride his trike and chase after his cousins to his heart's content after opening presents.

Happy birthday, Jonathan! We're so proud of the little man you're growing into. Soon enough, you'll be graduating and moving on to conquer the world, and we'll wonder what ever happened to the full-cheeked boy with darling dimples we used to rock to sleep. Until then, though, we'll cherish each day we get to give you great, big bear hugs and good-morning kisses, listen to you sing Miss Mary Mack and Take Me Out to the Ball Game, and play hide-and-seek with you in your ducky towel.

May 8 - Mushroom Hunting

2010-05-08T00:13:00.006-05:00

I'm a little late in posting this, but better late than never, I guess.

Last weekend, we went for a hike down in the valley with a few of Chris' brothers. The proclaimed reason was to search for morel mushrooms, but I was more interested in just walking around and seeing what was new. We go down every spring, and sometimes enough mushrooms are found to fill grocery bags, but I'm never the one to find them.

Personally, I'm more interested in seeing how the usually-dry creek bed has transformed with the season's snow melt, and looking for unusual rocks exposed there. Unfortunately, plenty of dirt has been washed into the creek bed over the past couple of years, so now the rocks are mostly buried and grown over with weeds.

For Jonathan's part, he was content picking flowers (er, "flowers" ... as they were mostly dandelions) and jumping off fallen trees.

Tom was the first to find some good-sized morels (below). Chris found some more later. We followed the dry creek bed almost to the property line and decided to head back -- although we'd lost track of Chris by that point. He had been encouraged by his initial find, and was on a mission to find more mushrooms.

Jerry had taken a different path on the way down, and found a calf that must have just been born that morning. Apparently, a cow will often hide her newborn in the bushes and take off for a bit. I'm sure the cow wouldn't be happy to see us around her calf when she returned, but she wasn't anywhere in sight, so we let Jonathan take a look. He said he wanted to give the baby cow a hug. I didn't let him get quite that affectionate, but the calf wasn't moving around much, so I let him pet it a little.

It's a long, steep walk back up the bluff side, but Jonathan was lucky enough to have three uncles to alternate between for rides on their shoulders. Chris showed up not long after we reached the top. We didn't hit the jackpot like we have in years past (not yet, anyway), but there was enough to sauté and enjoy with dinner.

Apr. 16 - Filling in Some Gaps - Part II

2010-04-16T00:40:00.005-05:00

I know it's been a while since I posted Part I, and people have probably forgotten that there would eventually be a second entry about the complications after Garrett's third treatment. I actually even considered letting Part II go, since it's been so long, but for the last week or so, when I've had trouble sleeping, my mind would usually wander back to Garrett's last day with us. Then I'd get up, check my email, see what was new on Facebook, catch up on some blogs, and maybe play a few games of solitaire to clear my mind so I could go back to bed. Now I'm convinced that routine is going to continue until I finally finish Part II here.

This hasn't been a post I've looked forward to writing, as I don't really feel like I can do justice to Garrett's final hours. But those thoughts are demanding some form of expression, and I don't imagine I'll get a good night's sleep until they've made their way out somewhere.

So Part I left off with Chris and me learning that Garrett was in serious trouble because the bleeding in his brain was proving difficult to get under control. I don't remember how long we stood in his room while doctors came and went, adjusting the drainage bag from his shunt and commenting on how it just wasn't flowing, before the decision was made that he'd need another shunt to let more fluid out. Someone called for ultrasound equipment, but it didn't show up for ... I don't know. It had to have been close to an hour. During that time, we twice overheard a doctor ask a nurse whether the equipment was coming, and she'd explain that the ultrasound staff were told it was needed stat. Doesn't "stat" mean something like "right now." Did the ultrasound folks not know it meant "right now"?

Before that, though, when we were just beginning to digest the gravity of Garrett's condition, Dr. Lanzino came back to Garrett's room, and spoke with us just as calmly as he had before. That's when I realized that his tone and facial expressions weren't reliable signs for me to read as a gauge for Garrett's progress. It wasn't that he was being passive, and he wasn't misleading us with false hope by any means. But we had seen Dr. Wetjen wear his grim outlook when he initially told us about Garrett's condition. And after Garrett's first procedure, we listened to the stress and relief practically drip from Dr. Cloft's words as he told us of its success. But looking back, Dr. Lanzino's demeanor seemed pretty consistent throughout our encounters. I guess we hadn't heard from him much during the most challenging times, though, so what differences might exist between, "Hey, things are looking good," and "Oh my, this is alarming," were lost on me. Maybe they were just subtle enough that I didn't notice them with the positive expectations I probably projected onto the situation.

So it wasn't until he returned to Garrett's room and told us ... I honestly don't even remember what he told us. He used full sentences. There was an adequate number of words. But all I retained is that he used the term "brain melt," and that's when what hope I was still holding onto evaporated in an instant.

When Chris and I first learned what condition was threatening our son and tried to learn everything we could online, we had come across that term in one couple's story. Their daughter had a vein of Galen malformation, and apparently the pressure from it grew so intense that it actually liquefied the brain matter surrounding it. That little girl didn't make it. But is it any wonder? How is a person supposed to survive when her brain has begun to melt.

My son's brain was melting! What kind of quality of life could he possibly have now? Even if they turned things around that moment, what abilities would he have left? Would he be able to talk? Would he be able to eat? Would he have control of his body? Would he even be able to comprehend what was going on around him?

We had been worried about how he'd be affected from his initial heart failure and the "instrumentation" in his brain, but now this? Every day would be a struggle for him. Every day he would suffer. And every day Chris and I would ache for him the way our parents surely ache for us now with our pain at having lost him. The last thing I wanted was for Garrett to go on to live a nightmarish life. He had been through enough in the few weeks he'd been with us. He didn't need decades of torment. At that moment, my prayer changed from, "Lord, please pull Garrett through this," to, "Lord, either restore Garrett completely, or take him now."

So when they said another shunt would be needed, it felt like a technicality -- just going through the motions. When the equipment wasn't coming as quickly as it should have, I wasn't panicking, but was oddly annoyed. I actually thought, "Now what if this was serious? What if this was life or death for my baby, and those folks are lolly-gagging?" But I wasn't convinced it was life or death. It seemed like Garrett was lost already. The medical staff were sincere in their continuing efforts to save him, but part of me wondered at what point they would stop and just let him go.

So when Dr. Arteaga approached us and said, "I hate having to ask this question at such a difficult time, but we need to know. If Garrett's heart stops beating, do you want us to try to get it going again?" I immediately said, "No." She looked from me to Chris and said, "Well you two can take some time to talk about it." But Chris shook his head and said, "No," too.

If I had room for anything other than despair at that point, I would have felt like a heel for not waiting for his input. But we've had conversations before about whether we would want to continue living if we had to rely on life support or if our quality of life had diminished to a given degree. So while we had never talked about this scenario specifically, I had no doubt he felt the same as I did about letting Garrett go. I suspect, like me, he believed we already were.

At this point, we were frequently hearing his heartbeat being described as "labile," and I wondered how long it would bounce between the 60s and 140s before it finally gave out. I think Dr. Arteaga then asked us whether we wanted to stay in the room while the second shunt was placed. The equipment wasn't there yet, but would be arriving soon. She said if we were okay with the commotion and the high-stress situation, we could stay there, or we could wait outside if we preferred. At least I remember getting that option at some point, although I'm not entirely sure it was for this. I think it was ...

Either way, some reason compelled us to go out to the waiting room. My mom was there, and I told her it wasn't looking good, but I couldn't find words to quantify how bad it was. In that type of situation, you're like a black hole: information and observations come in, but not much of anything manages to get out. I don't remember whether we were called back to his room, or if we just felt antsy and wanted an update, but after a while we made our way back into the PICU and found the curtain to his room still closed and a crowd of people around the door.

Throughout the afternoon, we often heard two lines of sympathetic refrain. As things looked worse, doctors frequently asked if there was anyone we wanted them to call. Other staff would ask if they could get us anything. We heard it again when we approached the group around Garrett's room. A woman asked if she could get us something -- maybe some water? No. "Would you like to have a seat? There's a chair right over there. And a stool right next to it." No.

It seemed "no" was the only word we could muster, and I wonder whether it was less an answer to their questions and more an obligatory utterance acknowledging that we had been addressed. They heard the nos as a response to their inquiries, but with the turn Garrett had taken, it felt more like the overwhelming objection to the unavoidable tragedy we were about to hit head on. Can we call someone? No. Get you some water? No. Would you like a seat? No. No, no, no, no. NO! This can't be happening!

The second shunt was in place, and Dr. Arteaga asked us to speak to Garrett to see how he responded. There was no response. It was hard to know whether to stay there or go back to the waiting area. We didn't really need to be either place. We couldn't help him there, but part of me wasn't ready to go back to sit with my mom. When you're so devoid of hope, you can feel a little conflicted about being around someone who still expects things could turn out well. I didn't fault Mom for her optimism. She just didn't know how terribly things were progressing.

So when Dr. Wetjen asked again if there was anyone we wanted him to talk to, I told him my mom was in the waiting area, and she should probably know what was happening. By then, Chris' sister Dawn had arrived, too. We all went in "the quiet room" in the PICU, and Dr. Wetjen explained what had happened to Garrett. He said they weren't getting any signs of brain life, and although he was given some medicine before his surgery to essentially keep him paralyzed during the procedure, they thought enough of that would have worn off by now that they'd see something. But because it takes 24 hours to fully leave the system, they couldn't officially declare him brain dead yet. Garrett's eyes weren't dilating when checked, though, and Dr. Wetgen said he's never seen a patient come back from that degree of brain damage.

Things were a blur again after that. I think my mom was able to go back to Garrett's room and pray for him. Soon enough, Chris and I were called back there because Garrett's heart was beating more erratically and they didn't expect him to hold on much longer. Dr. Wetjen had mentioned that some parents find comfort in these circumstances by allowing their babies to be organ donors. I asked what would be involved in that, but the staff explained that with his inadequate perfusion, he wouldn't be a candidate. His heart just wasn't getting enough oxygen to his organs, so they wouldn't be in good enough condition for donation.

They told us that they could keep giving him medicine to try to help his heart (essentially to try waiting until enough time had passed for him to be officially declared brain dead), or if we wanted, we could remove all the devices and let the end come naturally. My mind had already been made up, but this time I turned to Chris for his answer. He shook his head and tearfully whispered, "Just let him go." I simply nodded my agreement.

They said we could hold him again once they detached him from everything, but I wasn't sure I wanted to. He was being ripped away from us. Wouldn't it hurt that much more to have him in my arms again? But I think it's assumed that that's what parents do, and thankfully there was a small, rational part of me that knew I would regret it if I didn't.

I asked if he would be in pain, or if he'd be gasping for air. The nurse explained that he'd be relaxed and would be given another dose of Fentanyl to make sure he was comfortable.

So they pulled the glider over and I got situated with a pillow and blankets on my lap. This routine had been such a joyous event the last time he was taken off the ventilator -- when I was looking forward to embracing and nursing him again. But now his body was still on the pillow. They had pulled a blue cap around his head to cover the shunts and blood. Mom brought a blue and brown blanket, which we draped over him. I rested my hand on his chest, barely able to make out an occasional heartbeat. I thought it would only be a couple minutes before he slipped away, but it seemed to last a lot longer than that.

I stroked his slender fingers and thought about how they would never grasp a baseball or push a toy car around with his older brother. His face was slack now, and as I looked at his smooth forehead, I wondered whether the classic Rossing furrow would have been more prominent as he got older. He was a beautiful baby, but we wouldn't get to see the handsome man he'd grow into, or what traits he'd have from either Chris or myself.

I think the medical staff left so we could have some private time with him. I think my mom was able to stay, though, and Dawn might have been there, too. I don't really remember, though. It seemed like the world suddenly shrunk to encompass just me, Chris and our baby boy. Eventually, someone came back in to check his heart. He was gone.

The child life specialist had told us earlier that she could get paper and ink to make keepsakes of Garrett's hand and foot prints. She could also make plaster molds of his hands and feet if we'd like. Once again, I wasn't so sure I wanted to. He was gone. Wouldn't having those things around just keep the gaping wound in our hearts open longer?

But as much as I didn't want to right then, part of me could see how I might cherish those years down the road. So we went ahead and gently pressed his hands and feet into the ink pads and then onto the paper. The child life specialist poured the plaster into cups and carefully created his molds.

I asked one of the nurses what we do now. She told us to take the time that we needed. No one would be rushing us out of there, but we didn't need to stay, either. We could leave whenever we were prepared to go. I reiterated, "But what do we do?" nodding toward Garrett. We came to Saint Marys expecting to take a healthy little boy home with us once he recovered. Now I had a lifeless baby in my arms. What happens now? What do you do with the body?

She started telling us what to expect with the funeral home, and my mom made some calls to look into that. You don't expect to have to make those considerations at our age -- especially regarding the remains of your child. We made the bare minimum decisions we had to that night -- choosing a funeral home and deciding to have Garrett cremated.

I called a few family members to let them know Garrett didn't make it, but we let others pass the news on from there. A lot of Chris' family from Lake City wanted to come out, and although we told them we didn't know how much longer we'd be there, they felt they had to come. I didn't think I wanted anyone else there, but once they arrived, I was glad they came.

The nurses managed to remove the shunts and clean Garrett up, so he was wrapped in his blanket, the cap still pulled around his ears, and back in his bed before everyone got there. He still had some faint color in his face, so if you didn't know better, you'd half expect him to begin moving at any moment.

But he wouldn't move again. We left the hospital empty handed and defeated.

That pretty much brings us up to the post from the day after. It's hard to believe it's been over four months since we've said goodbye to out little Garrett.

Mar. 27 - Mothers' Milk Bank

2010-03-28T02:59:00.011-05:00

I was tempted not to write about this, but my sister convinced me to go ahead. Anyone whose stomach might turn at the words "mother's milk," "nursing," or "lactation" might want to skip reading this post. But, with my female audience in mind, here goes.

When I returned to work after my maternity leave with Jonathan, I'd make a trip to the Sieben's lactation room twice a day to ensure Jonathan had bottles for daycare. I always hated pumping. It was such an inconvenience, interrupting the work day and requiring me to haul my tubes, cones, valves and bottles around. And the tediousness of the constant cleaning. Ugh.

The lactation room itself was cold with bright, harsh lights and a teal, vinyl-covered recliner (which makes me sure the folks designing the rooms are a bunch of men, because the logistics of reclining while pumping just do not work out) next to a table that was far too small to fit both a clunky tan phone and one of the magazines from a nearby rack. It didn't help matters that you could hear every conversation held in the adjacent corridor, or that the room was in such high demand that, even though we scheduled our time on the sign-up sheet, inevitably there would be one or two attempts from some stranger to enter the room when the poor soul inside (often me) was feeling most exposed.

One day, someone left a copy of O Magazine in the room with a note inviting other mothers to read the article "One Woman's Mission to Save Babies," about a 37-year-old woman, Lynn Page, who gave birth to triplets at 23 weeks. Two of her babies died within 24 hours, but she pumped freezers full of breast milk as she waited for her surviving daughter, Reese, to be well enough to leave the hospital. Reese lived for six and a half months, and Lynn had only been able to hold her a couple dozen times. When I read how Reese had died in Lynn's arms, with Lynn's husband Chris by her side, I wondered what the chances were that she would die just then. Well, now I know. The medical staff can see when the end is coming, so they let parents hold their child one final time to say goodbye.

I sobbed over Lynn's story. I couldn't imagine having to suffer that kind of loss. (Nobody can. That's what Chris and I keep hearing now, too.) But unwilling to let all that precious milk go to waste, she contacted WakeMed Mothers' Milk Bank in North Carolina, an organization that processes donated milk to be given to other premature infants or patients with conditions for which breast milk has been found to be beneficial. Although WakeMed would arrange for shipment, Lynn and Chris felt compelled to deliver it themselves, as it felt like they were handing over their connection to Reese. After reading their story, my heart ached for Lynn and I felt all the more thankful for my healthy Jonathan at home.

Our first day in the PICU with Garrett, the nurses set me up with a pumping kit and showed me where the breastfeeding room was. I thought it was odd that this room was called a breastfeeding room, whereas every other room with a chair, sink and pump on the Mayo campus was apparently called a lactation room. If a mom was breastfeeding in the PICU, you'd think she'd do it in her baby's room. But anyway ...

The nurse who was showing me the room, and where to find the containers and labels, told me the pump was "the Cadillac of breast pumps." Apparently, your typical consumer pump does the job for expressing enough milk while you're at work, but the hospital-grade ones are more powerful to enable a mother to keep her supply steady when she can't actually nurse her baby for an extended period of time. She was right. My milk hadn't even come in yet when we arrived at the PICU, but the pump did just what it was supposed to do and by the time Garrett could nurse again, I wound up having too much and needing to pump for my own sake then.

But when I was first handed the packaged tubes and cones, I wasn't particularly looking forward to pumping, and I certainly didn't realize I'd be doing it for days and days. I remembered Lynn when I set myself up in the breastfeeding room and thought, "Thank goodness that's not my story. Thank God my Garrett is getting better. I'm pumping now to make sure I have milk when he's ready to eat again, but he's not going to need this. He'll be nursing, after all."

In contrast to the lactation room in Siebens, this one was like my personal oasis. It had soft, dimmed light and was noticeably warmer than the rest of the PICU floor. Instead of a recliner, it had a glider that let you rock to the whir-whir-whir of the pump. There were a number of times that room welcomed my tears as I agonized over whether Garrett would make it through his first procedure, or thought about the torture he endured in the ER. I didn't necessarily go there expecting to melt down, but when you're constantly around other people, I suppose it's only natural for your emotions to finally bubble up when you've found some privacy.

At other times, though, being able to lock out the equipment and beeping monitors of the PICU, settling into the glider and thinking about how well Garrett was doing, I actually found it to be quite relaxing. I nearly fell asleep on a few occasions. In fact, I'm fairly certain I did fall asleep once, as I woke up just in time to discover my two nine-ounce bottles were nearly overflowing.

In the beginning, the nurses stressed how important it would be to pump every two to three hours to keep my supply up while Garrett was intubated. More than one nurse made a point of asking, "When was the last time you pumped? The cardiologist should be in in 15 minutes. It'd be a good time to pump once he leaves. You really need to keep your supply up. You'd be amazed at how fast he'll go through the milk once he can take it."

At first I felt guilty for letting the time lapse to four or five hours, but I remembered how, when I was pumping for Jonathan, I could skip a session and still express nearly two-sessions worth at the next one, so I suspected my body would produce what it would produce, regardless of the frequency of my pumping intervals. And I was right. Sometimes I'd go six, seven, even eight hours without pumping, and still managed just fine. At this point, it wasn't a matter of not wanting to pump, but with juggling doctors, visitors, and Garrett's test, it was always a struggle to find time.

The nurses quite checking on how faithfully I was pumping when I had filled an entire shelf with 2.5-ounce containers in the PICU freezer. In fact, one nurse seemed particularly surprised when she was helping me pack up to move with Garrett to the general floor. She had brought a large plastic bag for the breast milk and asked which ones in the freezer were mine. I said all of them, but she still checked the name on each container before placing it in the bag.

About six containers in, she said, "Oh my goodness." Then another ten or so containers went by and she gave a more emphatic, "Oh my goodness!" and added, "You know, I think you'd be safe to pump and dump now if you wanted to." That made me wonder whether she had children, or if she nursed or ever had to pump herself. I wouldn't think someone who had to pump herself would consider dumping the milk out if there's a way to keep it for later use -- and Saint Marys has the system down for pumping and storing the milk. If I'm going to take the time to pump, there's no way I'm dumping that "liquid gold" out.

When we finally discharged from Saint Marys with instructions to give Garrett formula-fortified bottles, I was glad to have a significant stash established already. But he really didn't go through that much before he passed away, and I had nearly 200 ounces left over. That's a far cry from the 56 gallons Lynn Page pumped, but with so much effort feeling like ... not a waste exactly ... but feeling unfruitful, I wanted to donate the milk so that some baby somewhere might benefit.

When Garrett died, the nurses asked what they could do for us, if there was a funeral home they should call or if we wanted our pastor to come to the hospital. I wasn't sure what to do about that yet, but I asked them if they knew where I could donate the breast milk. I don't think any of them had heard of such a thing, but they did some research and found an organization, although whoever they spoke to said I'd have to be persistent when I called to get them to take it. That seemed odd. It shouldn't be work to give that kind of gift.

So I later searched online, and after reaching a couple dead ends, eventually got in contact with Indiana Mothers' Milk Bank. I filled out an initial questionnaire and was approved as a donor. After completing some additional forms and having blood drawn and sent to their lab, I received a pre-paid UPS box, however I needed to find some dry ice to keep the milk cold en route.

It took a lot longer than I expected to finally get everything in place to send the milk off, though. (But don't worry. Expressed milk can be stored for up to a year in a chest or upright freezer, so it wasn't in any danger of going bad just yet.) It was probably a couple weeks before I got in touch with Indiana Mother's Milk Bank, and then a week or so before the paperwork and instructions for the blood draw got to me. The first box they sent never arrived, so they had to send another one. And then it was at least two weeks before I finally tracked down dry ice at Mississippi Welder's. (Who would have guessed it'd be sold there?) Then I had to wait for a Monday morning when I could coordinate coming to Rochester, buying the dry ice and getting to UPS right when they opened at 8 a.m.so that there wouldn't be any delays in shipping.

So finally, finally, on Monday, March 15th, just over three months after Garrett passed away, I brought the box into UPS. The man behind the counter asked what it was. I'm sure that's just a standard question they're required to ask, but I felt a little awkward saying, "Um ... expressed milk?" He said, "Okay. That's all I needed to know." And that was that.

Mine wasn't the emotional endeavor Lynn's was. I didn't feel much of anything walking out of UPS, except slight embarrassment over having to tell some unsuspecting guy that he was holding a hefty box of my breast milk. Oh well.

So now Lynn's story is my story, too. I didn't want it to be. I didn't even consider it would be until Garrett's final moments. But, as they say, it is what it is. Hopefully some babies somewhere will be helped by it.

Mar. 16 - Jonathan

2010-03-16T12:34:00.003-05:00

Jonathan woke up with a fever at 2:30 this morning. Thankfully it wasn't one of those Holy smoke, should we take him in? fevers, but to underscore how poorly he was feeling, he threw up all over himself, his blankets, his puppy, and me. In case I missed it, he told me, "Mommy, spill!" We were sitting on the rocking chair when it happened, though, and I guess it's easier to toss clothes and blankets in the wash than clean up suede and carpet. And considering the only thing in his stomach was the cup of water he had just chugged, it could have been worse.

It was an hour before he'd go back to bed, and then he was up every couple hours after that kind of complaining through the monitor. I checked on him once and pulled the covers he kicked off back around him. The next time he woke, he realized his puppy was missing and hollered, "Mom, puppy. Mommy, PUPPY!" The little brown pup was dry enough by then (having gone through the wash with everything else), so I gave it to him and he went right back to sleep. I was surprised he didn't need any more cuddles until he was up for the day around 9 a.m. He seems to be feeling a little better now, although he had an unusually screamy, whiny, red-faced meltdown when I changed his diaper before his nap.

Last Saturday we brought him to Christ Community Church in Rochester. That's where we would usually go before we moved out to the country. We've been having trouble making up our minds between First Lutheran in Lake City and Christ Community, but lately have felt kind of drawn back to CCC, even with the drive. Maybe part of it is expecting to see some familiar faces. We had gone the weekend before, and although I didn't expect Jonathan would want to be away from us, I asked him if he'd rather sit with Mom and Dad or play with the kids and toys. I tried to make it as clear as I could that playing with the kids would mean being without us, and he kept saying, "Kids! Toys!" and seemed very excited by the idea.

When we handed him off to the the lady coordinating the "lambs" room, though, a look of sheer horror swept across his face. I instinctively took a couple steps toward him, preparing to grab him back, but she assured me he'd be fine and whisked him off to the playroom. It was refreshing to be able to sit through a service and give it our undivided attention, but when we returned to pick up Jonathan, we learned that he had quite a hard time. Not hard enough to have his number flashed in the sanctuary to prompt one of us to go get him, but a tough time nonetheless.

So when we went last Saturday, I had to remind him again and again that he'd stay with us this time. "All done kids." He did fairly well and clapped along through the worship songs. When it was time to sit after greeting those around us, though, he thought that was the end, waved toward the front of the sanctuary and said, "Bye, church!" I half expected him to add, "See you later, alligator!" I told him we weren't leaving yet, and he behaved pretty well until about twenty minutes into the sermon. I tried to keep him busy with raisins (with a few chocolate-covered raisins mixed in), but then he kept saying, "Candy!" when he was ready for another one. Oh, good grief.

Chris ended up taking him out to the lobby, and once Chris thought he'd stay quiet, they came back. But as soon as Jonathan saw me, he pointed and exclaimed, "Mommy right there!" So I ended up keeping him company walking around the halls for the remainder of the service. Oh well. All in all, I'd say he did pretty well. We'll see how long he lasts next time.

Mar. 12 - Three Months Later - And here I thought I was mastering this grief thing

2010-03-12T23:58:00.016-06:00

I usually take the bus to and from Rochester for work, but this week I've been driving in for an off-campus class every morning. Waiting for the shuttle to get me to my office afterwards can be painful (I'm not the most patient person), but I guess it beats walking for eight or more blocks when I'm not willing to pay for parking downtown.

At the Saint Marys stop today, I recognized a woman who boarded and sat across the aisle from me. It took a while to place who she was. Hmm ... someone from the PICU ... a neurologist, but not the main one ... I don't remember seeing her in the latter half of our stay ...

She looked like she was trying to figure out how she knew me, too. I asked for her name and gave her mine. She said she was Gloria and asked where she knew me from. I told her she had cared for my son, and even though I didn't mention his name, she remembered. Unfortunately, since she hadn't heard any more about his case after we left the PICU, she didn't know what had happened to Garrett and asked, "Oh! How's he doing?"

I thought I would handle it fine. I hadn't gotten all emotional weeks ago when I told a woman on the commuter bus (who I had seen plenty of times but hadn't really met before sitting next to her that day) that yes, I did leave to have a baby last fall, but he had some unexpected medical problems and died a month later. Maybe the delicate difference is that Margo didn't asked how the baby is, but rather referred to me leaving to have a baby. There wasn't an erroneous assumption that I had to correct. My news that he didn't make it was additional information, but it didn't carry the extra burden of obliterating the basis of a question.

But having gotten through that encounter fine, when Gloria asked, I thought I'd be just as composed. I paused as I thought about what to say, and finally explained, "Well, he had to go in for another procedure, and he didn't make it." By the time I hit "procedure," I thought I was in the clear. But with having to say "he didn't make it," I was undone. Bring on the water works. Ugh. I hate falling apart in public. And to make matters worse, we were sitting in the very front of the bus, and as soon as my face contorted into a wrinkled mess, more people started getting on. Bah!

It's funny, just yesterday I was thinking, Huh, today is March 11th. Garrett's been gone three months now. What a difference this is from the first few days we were dealing with the loss. That pain is still there, and I don't imagine it will ever go away -- but it's not so immediate.

In the beginning, I'd wake up thinking about Garrett, and would instantly feel completely leveled emotionally and physically. Now I don't think about him first thing in the morning. And when I do think about him, being overcome with emotion doesn't seem to happen unless I go down some specific paths mentally.

So in that sense, it's like having an injury where "it hurts my leg when I do this." Well, then don't do that, silly. The hurt will always be there, but I don't need to experience it so deeply unless I'm open to it. Not that I ever try to get worked up, but I can try not to when I see it coming and stave it off. (For the most part, I let it come so I can process it and work through it -- but sometimes I catch myself starting to think about the ER when I'm trying to fall asleep, or choke up listening to a song when I'm in the car by myself and almost to my destination. I know those thoughts will keep me awake the better part of the night, or put me in an uncomfortable mindset while I'm getting groceries, so I shove them aside. I'll deal with them sometime -- just not right now.)

So here, three months later, it's nice to be able to keep the sting at arm's length when needed. At least that's what I thought yesterday. And then today I had to modify that expectation. I guess I can reign in my internal dialogue when it's headed someplace I don't want to go, but I suppose I won't have so much control when external factors come into play.

It still seems odd, though, that thinking to myself, "He's gone. He's been gone three months. He seemed so healthy, but he didn't make it," doesn't necessarily open the floodgates of despair. But when Gloria asked, and I had to tell her that he didn't make it ... I don't know. It's like saying it in that context, when it's new to somebody ... somebody who expected he'd be all right ... Having to make that correction just crushed me once again with the enormity of how wrong it is that he's gone.

Yes, he was doing so well. Yes, he should be with us now. Yes, he should still be doing well. But no. No, he needed another treatment. No, it didn't go well. No, there were complications. No, he didn't make it. No, no, no. NO!

Having to think through that again was like dealing with all the agony of the first week without him, but compressed into a few minutes. For her part, Gloria was very compassionate. I apologized for crying -- although I'm not sure if I was apologizing so much to her or to myself (stupid unruly emotions) -- and she reassured me that was normal. I regained my composure before we arrived downtown, but I was still shaking when I finally got back to my desk. Ugh again.

But why is that? Why would it be different than when I had to tell a few people on the Lake City bus? Is it because Gloria knew Garrett? In his short little life, she was one of the people who got to see him more than most of my own family, and she knew what he was dealing with medically. Is it because talking with her temporarily brought me back to a time when things could have been different? When things should have been different? Maybe that nanosecond of remembering hope, of subconsciously reliving hope, rendered the blow of "he didn't make it" all the more powerful.

Who knows. I guess grief is its own animal, and won't easily be tamed.

Mar. 9 - Jonathan

2010-03-09T21:28:00.002-06:00

Jonathan is starting to refer to himself as "me" and "I" sometimes now, but other times he'll still say "you" or speak of himself in the third person with "he" or "Jonathan" (although he says it with more of a "tion" sound, like "imagination") or "you." For example, he'll say, "I running!" and "Give it to me." And when we bury him under his stuffed animals and ask, "Where's Jonathan?" he'll hop up, point at himself enthusiastically and declare, "Right there he is! I found me!"

Last weekend, when Chris and Jerry came back to our place after working on their folks' cabinets, Jonathan ran into the kitchen to greet them and exclaimed, "Daddy home! Jerry home!" Then he pointed to me, "Mommy home!" and himself, "Jonation home!" Then he went around giving everyone five, saying, "Daddy five! Jerry five! Mommy five!" and pointed to himself again and added, "You five," and clapped his own hand. What a character.

Feb. 24

2010-02-24T14:10:00.017-06:00

Last Saturday, I joined my friend Christa and a bunch of her friends for a ladies night out. We caught a matinee of Rent at The Lab Theater in Minneapolis and enjoyed dinner and drinks at The News Room afterward. It was refreshing to take off the mom hat for a night, and I can't remember the last time I'd been out to see a play.

It kind of made me wonder what all I might be doing if I lived near the Cities. There are so many theaters, museums, lakes to jog around (real lakes, not just man-made ones -- ahem, Rochester), and such diversity for people watching. Maybe I'd learn to speak French, take up cardio-kickboxing, try my hand at ceramics, and see whether I am coordinated enough to dance. Maybe jazz, swing, contemporary or salsa? Mmm, maybe not salsa. I don't think I'm quite sassy enough. Then again ...

Oh well. Realistically, I'd probably only take the time to explore those interests if I didn't have a little one at home, and if I wasn't married. And then I'd most likely be wishing I was married and had kids. Even single and focused on myself, I might enjoy it wholeheartedly for a month and then be fed up with the traffic and dream about the wide horizon of the country again. I guess we can't have it all. (Still, I wish someone would offer cardio kickboxing in Lake City.)

While I was enjoying my excursion, Jonathan hung out with Grandma and Grandpa Klein, because Chris and his brothers, Tom and Jerry, were putting new cabinets in their kitchen. Jonathan usually gets excited about going to Grandpa's farm, so I imagine he did pretty well there. He even told me he saw some cows. What a highlight! I didn't get back until after he was asleep, though, and while he didn't give Chris a hard time about going to bed, he did wake up about a half hour after I got home and was out of sorts for nearly three hours. Yikes! None of us got much sleep that night.

With Carol being gone on vacation now, Jonathan gets to spend all week with Jean, which I suspect he's thrilled about. He asks to go to "aunt Jean's house" so often, I'm starting to think he'd rather live there. Yesterday she sent some toy tents back with him to use here today. He wanted to play with them right away when we got home, and immediately after supper, and then didn't want to go to bed because he was having too much fun.

We've often told Jonathan to use his words (e.g., "stop") rather than scream or hit when someone is bothering him. When we told him it was time for bed last night, he looked at us and firmly said, "Stop!" and then remembered his manners and continued, "Please. Stop. Please. Stop. All done bed! Play tents. Please. Stop." He didn't use a begging "please," though. He had the same tone as I do when I tell him not to bang his cup on the table -- with an expectation that of course the request will be honored.

But he signed "please" and "stop" as he said them, which he does sometimes when he feels like he's not being understood. I had to turn away to face Chris so Jonathan wouldn't see me swallowing my laughter.

Once I got my composure, I tried to coax him out of the tent again. "Jonathan, it's time for bed." But he persisted to sign and say, "Please. Stop. Please. Stop." He had such an authoritative expression on his face, too. He suddenly reminded me a lot of my dad! We did get him out and off to bed, but not without a hearty protest on his part.

Feb. 12 - Two Months Later

2010-02-12T23:17:00.003-06:00

Yesterday marked two months since Garrett passed away. For some reason, I can acknowledge that as a simple fact, like noting the roads were icy earlier this week. But when I think that he would have been three months old today ... that hurts.

It's all the would haves that hit me like a blast from a sandstorm. He would have been holding his head up. He would be cooing and smiling. He would be mesmerized by Jonathan, who would surely evoke eruptions of giggles from his little brother.

The night we brought Garrett home from St. Elizabeth's -- before the trip to the ER, before Saint Marys, before the diagnosis and procedures -- was the only night I'd set Garrett in his bassinet and head to bed excited, instead of worried, about what the future would hold. As I closed my eyes that night, I thought about Jonathan sleeping soundly in his crib, Garrett swaddled and content close by, and Chris lying next to me. Maybe it was partially the postpartum hormones, but I was moved by the sense of fullness in the house. Now I had my family. The one I had envisioned since I was 13. The one with kids -- plural. I felt so complete that night. And to think that six hours later we'd be making our first trip to the emergency room and our world would begin to unravel.

He would have been three months old today. Maybe his eyes would have turned a deep brown like mine. He probably would have outgrown his newborn clothes. We'd have had plenty of hours of nighttime nursing for me to study his features and see how much of Chris and myself was emerging. I would be looking forward to warmer weather and getting my boys outside. Our minivan, with ample room for two car seats, would be serving its purpose all the more.

If we didn't live in a fallen world where illness can chip away at a newborn's capabilities and where tragedy can snatch away children unnaturally early, Garrett would be with us, as healthy as any other baby, and we would still be a family.

Feb. 5 - Filling in Some Gaps - Part I

2010-02-05T23:13:00.005-06:00

Yesterday was the day I originally planned to come back from maternity leave. I returned a month early, but in some ways it feels like it's been a lot longer.

While talking with some friends at work, though, I realized I never explained what all transpired the afternoon and evening that Garrett passed away. I went right from a post about waiting for him to come out from his procedure to sharing the news that he had left us -- and although there weren't many hours in between, those were probably the longest hours of my life. So for those who haven't heard the full story already, here goes. (I should qualify this with a disclaimer that I'm relaying the way I remember it. I might be off with exact sequence and medical details, but my mind was lost in trying to comprehend the reality we were facing, so some ambiguity is probably to be expected.)

So on the morning of December 11th, after shifting a sleeping Garrett from my arms to those of a blond anesthesiologist (who smiled and said he'd hang onto him, versus let his female colleague carry him, because he likes babies), Chris and I headed to the cafeteria to eat a quick breakfast before venturing back to the control desk to join other families waiting for their loved ones. Signs were scattered throughout the waiting area that food and beverages were not allowed, out of respect for patients -- presumably who were fasting before their procedures.

We knew Garrett would be heading to the PICU afterward, and thought his room would be assigned early enough that we could wait there (where we could later eat lunch and where a room was available for me to pump), but it wasn't. So I updated the blog, Chris played a few games of spider solitaire, we thumbed through some National Geographic magazines and read about the fall of Mayan civilization possibly being attributed to climate change, and eventually even tried to sleep. I wouldn't say we were at ease, but for some reason, we didn't feel nearly as anxious as we had with Garrett's first two procedures. Maybe that was simply because he'd made it through those two already. Maybe it was because he'd been improving so much. Given his track record, it hardly seemed logical that he'd run into problems at this point.

So waiting this time was quite the contrast to waiting through Garrett's first round of embolizations at just four days old. At that time, we were still reeling from the shock of facing both a high-mortality condition and treatment. After all, we had only learned about them a few hours before. As we followed the team pushing his little bed through the halls to the room where they would prepare him, it felt like we were already saying goodbye. I'm sure my face was a flushed, contorted mess as I kept myself from sobbing openly. I remember passing a few women who laughed as they talked, and thinking how strange it seemed that life would be going on as normal for other people when our world had just shattered into dust and rubble around our feet.

The team transporting Garrett also had to cart along the tanks of various gases being mixed for his breathing concoction. In his room, a machine had been responsible for his breathing, but while we were en route, one of the staff had to manually squeeze an anesthesia bag instead. It seemed so wrong to watch my son's tiny chest rise and fall obediently to this stranger slowly pumping a black bag. On the trip, there were a few times that man let go of the bag to push a button to open a door or hold the elevator just long enough to get his end of the bed through. Although I knew that these were professionals and Garrett was fine (the interruptions probably lasted no more than a few seconds, after all), I couldn't help but shout mentally, "Hey, buddy, my son's life is literally in your hands! Keep your paws on that bag!"

During that first procedure, we had gone back to Garrett's PICU room to wait. Some of Chris' family began to show up, though, so we moved to join them in the waiting area. (Mayo had implemented visitor restrictions during our PICU stay to avoid the spread of the H1N1 flu virus, so only parents were allowed in pediatric patients' rooms.) A part of me didn't want to be around anyone at first, but it didn't take long at all for me to appreciate the distraction.

When Garrett's procedure was over, I was a little surprised that Dr. Cloft and Dr. Lanzino came to tell us how it went while we were still in the waiting area. But I was glad they did, so our family could hear first hand about the success. With Garrett's second procedure, we again sat with some of Chris' family in the PICU waiting area, and Drs. Cloft and Lanzino again came out to give us good news.

With Garrett's third procedure, we didn't have family waiting with us, but as I said, for some reason we weren't quite as stressed about it. Although, since Dr. Cloft had indicated it might take three or four hours, we expected to hear some news by 12:30 at the latest, so we did start wondering whether something was wrong as 1 p.m. approached. I don't think Dr. Cloft showed up until about 1:30. He explained that the procedure seemed to have gone well. As with the first two, the hardest part was getting into the femoral vein. On an adult, that step would normally take five minutes, but with Garrett it took an hour this time. He said they had to call in another doctor who had more experience, and even he had trouble.

But, like before, once they were into the vein, it was relatively easy to get up to the brain. From what they could tell, the coils had clotted over as expected and the excess blood flow had been stopped. Dr. Cloft said Garrett would have a CAT scan on the way back to the PICU to check for any bleeding, but overall, things seemed to be looking good.

The folks at the control desk said Garrett still hadn't been assigned a room, but we could head over to the PICU and probably find out where he'd be once we got there. We did just that and eagerly waited to see our little guy again. I had last nursed Garrett at 3:45 that morning, and desperately needed to pump, but I didn't want to miss his arrival.

Dr. Lanzino caught me in the hall when I was on my way back from the ladies room and explained calmly that the scan had shown some bleeding into the ventricles, so a shunt was going to be placed to relieve the pressure. He didn't seem very concerned about it, so I didn't think it was a very big deal at the time. It was a drawback, certainly, but our little guy was a fighter and had made it through so much already ... Surely this wouldn't be any different. I had wished Chris would have heard it right from Dr. Lanzino, so he could have be reassured by his demeanor, too, but Dr. Lanzino was off again.

I don't remember whether I told Chris the news when I got back to the room or whether another doctor was already there letting him know. In any case, Garrett arrived not long after that, and we were asked to leave while they took care of the shunt. It's interesting that they could do that right in the room, but given that he was in his room, it felt like he was getting settled in for recovery. Chris and I stayed by the doors in the waiting area so they'd find us quickly to let us know when we could go back in.

Eventually Dr. Lanzino came out and told us the shunt was in place. I asked whether we could go back yet, and he said we'd better wait until they were done cleaning up ... maybe twenty minutes. He had seemed as calm as he was before, so I still had the impression everything was being managed just fine.

I took advantage of those twenty minutes to finally go pump -- although I'm sure it actually took a half hour or more because I had waited so long. When I came out, I was surprised to find Chris waiting outside Garrett's room (which still had the curtain pulled closed) while quite a few people were hurrying in and out and others stood nearby, ready to act. I was deciding how to maneuver through the crowd to get to Chris when a woman asked if I was doing all right or if I needed anything. Thinking back on it now, her tone had hinted at an expectation that I wouldn't be okay, but I was still under the impression that things were going as planned. I told her I was fine -- just trying to get over to my husband.

Although I was confused as to what was taking so long, I still wasn't worried yet. Chris probably was, but I misread his silence as simply being tired of waiting all day. I don't remember whether we were told what exactly was happening at that point, but Dr. Arteaga asked us to wait in the waiting area. She'd come get us later. I think at that point I called my mom to let her know that the procedure had gone well, but they were working on a shunt to address some bleeding that followed.

I was probably rather matter-of-fact about it. Between my expectation that everything would go well and the cues I took from Dr. Lanzino, I was pitifully slow at realizing there was a real problem. When I got off the phone, Chris solemnly pointed out that it probably wasn't just a matter of there being some blood in the ventricles. With all those people rushing in and out of Garrett's room, it was clear something wasn't right. He had witnessed more of it than I had, and obviously wasn't as blinded by optimism to miss the meaning.

Eventually, Dr. Arteaga came out and asked us to step inside the doors to the PICU. We knew right then that, whatever she had to say, it wouldn't be good. The doctors had always spoken with us wherever we were, regardless of who was around. The only reason to move someplace more private would be to share some bad news.

She explained that they were having trouble getting the bleeding under control, and that if it continued on that course, Garrett would get as sick as he was when we first brought him in to the PICU. We still couldn't go back to see him, but were instructed to stay close by. I needed to call my sister to rally some more urgent prayer support, though. It's funny that cell phones are to be turned off in the PICU, where there is good reception, but in the waiting area, where you're permitted to use them, you have to lean into a window to maybe get a signal. It wasn't working for me then, so I had to walk halfway to the Joseph Building and cozy up to a window there.

I think I got as far as, "Hey, Shelli," before my throat closed up. She probably thought the call had dropped. When I had spoken with her earlier to let her know Garrett's procedure was over, those calls were lost several times. "Mindi? Are you there?" she asked. I eventually squeaked out a "Yeah." She knew I was upset and told me to take my time.

That's one thing I love about Shelli. I'll be lost in my emotional turmoil, not having a clue how to say what needs to be said ... In fact, being physically unable to say anything because my entire chest becomes a block of concrete. Have I even forgotten how to breathe? But she remains calm and collected. Rational. And that's just what I need to help me pull it together long enough to get a few words out.

I managed to share what Dr. Arteaga had told us. "They're having trouble controlling the bleeding, and if they don't get it under control (huge sigh), he could be as bad as he was when he first came here." Now just look at that sentence. That's a lot to shake out of uncooperative vocal cords. I don't know how anyone can understand me when I'm so emotional, but Shelli did. She asked if I wanted her to call Grandma and the rest of the family and get people praying. It's a good thing she understood that's ultimately why I was calling, or we both would have been subjected to my voice rising to an even more unpleasant pitch if any additional words were needed. I was able to let out a relieved "Yeah" in response and we said goodbye so I could get back to Chris.

I think we were allowed into Garrett's room then. There was still some blood on his scalp, which kind of jarred me, and the shunt was draining to a bag by his bed, versus being concealed under his skin and draining to his abdomen as I expected. Initially, Garrett's blood wasn't clotting, so they had to give him something for his coagulation. I don't know whether that over-corrected the problem, but they seemed concerned that his blood was then clotting in the shunt and plugging it. I think they did something to flush the shunt a few times to let the fluid drain, but it wasn't draining very quickly, and it wasn't clear cerebrospinal fluid like it was supposed to be. It remained bloody, so it was hard to tell (for me, anyway) whether the hemorrhage was still bleeding into the ventricle or if it was just a matter of the blood not clearing because the shunt was getting clogged.

Ugh. I'm going to have to break this into two posts. It's getting pretty long already, and I really should try to get some sleep. (And now I'll need to do some reading before heading to bed so I'm not thinking about this.)

Feb. 1 - Jonathan's ABCs

2010-02-01T12:58:00.004-06:00

Today I'm home with a somewhat-sick little guy. As usual, Jonathan isn't acting very sick, but his body is giving us some clear signs -- particularly with his diapers. Yuck. I think he was looking forward to going back to Carol's house, but I don't imagine the other kids (or their parents) would appreciate the spread of germs.

He seemed to do pretty well there last week, though. He didn't cry at all when Chris dropped him off the first day. I called Carol once I got to Rochester to see whether he had a meltdown after Chris left, but she said she just asked him if he wanted to find the toys, and he went around the corner from the entry and said, "There they are!" Apparently he did cry a little when he woke up from his nap Monday, and he cried when Chris left on Tuesday, but with a little cuddling, he was good to go both times. And he wasn't distressed when Chris came to pick him up -- like he was when I got him from Mayo's Backup Child Care Center when he spent a week and a half there last summer.

Jonathan was all giggles Monday night, which was a good indicator that he had a fun day with the other kids. I asked him if he enjoyed playing with his friends: Nevea, Taylor, Noah, Natalie, Sydney, Trey, and Nicolas. He smiled with his eyes brightening and said, "Friends. Again!" Hopefully he'll be in better shape to go back tomorrow.

He seems to be figuring out his colors now, and I wonder whether that's related to some of the activities at Carol's. He's known the signs for colors for a while (and will sing the Colors of the Rainbow song from Signing Time whenever he sees a rainbow in one of his books), but if you were to ask him what color something was, he'd just throw out a guess.

Last week, however, he dumped out a bag of plastic balls, picked one up and correctly identified it as being blue. The next day, he pointed to his foam Cars chair and said, "Red car." Since then, he's pretty much covered the other colors as well. But displaying this ability has to be on his terms. If he feels like it, he'll tell you what color something is, but if you ask him, he'll still usually just toss out a name, like he doesn't want to bother thinking about it.

Jonathan is much more cooperative with identifying letters, though, and got a kick out of showing Grandma and Grandpa Rossing how he can complete his alphabet puzzle when they came to visit yesterday. I'm not sure exactly when he figured out his ABCs. He's been saying "M for Mommy" and "T for TyTy" for a while, but the rest of the letters seem to have come all at once.

When Jonathan was almost 17 months, I found him pointing at different Mickeys on a diaper box in his room, and then point to the number 3 and said "ess." Granted, a 3 is not an S, but it's similar in shape. That was the first time I witnessed him identify what he thought was a letter.

I'd read that kids can distinguish the differences between colors and the shapes of letters around 18 months, so once we saw him express that awareness, we tried to make more of an effort to expose him to letters and words. And he'd get excited, squealing, "A, B!" when Rachel signed the alphabet at the end of Signing Time: Leah's Farm. So then we tried the Signing Time movie that's dedicated to the alphabet, and that's been a hit -- as has the Blue's Clues alphabet movie.

We've tried flash cards, too, but he's more attentive to the objects than letters being represented with those. He loves the foam letters he gets to play with in the tub, though, and will pull out his alphabet puzzle pretty frequently. Those are probably more interesting because he can grab each letter, stick his fingers in the holes and bite down on the foam ones -- unless Mom or Dad catches him and tells him not to eat it. Then he'll reply, "Don't eat it," and fling it away.

It's so fascinating watching him learn new things. People describe children's brains as being sponges at this age, and I can certainly see why.

I sure would have liked to watch Garrett grow and learn, too. Although after everything he'd been through -- with the lack of oxygen from his initial heart failure, the "instrumentation" in his brain with his first two procedures, and the bleeding following his final treatment -- it wouldn't have come as easily for him. And wth what his brain suffered as the end neared, I really worried about what quality of life he'd be left with. He might never learn his colors or ABCs. Would he even be able to talk? I guess I'm not an expert on the capabilities that remain with varying degrees of brain damage, but even if Garrett had made it, I still would have felt he'd been greatly cheated.

As it is, we'll never get to cheer on Garrett reaching various milestones. But we have Jonathan, and we'll celebrate his accomplishments. And hopefully we'll have another baby some day to nurture and praise -- to usher through infancy and childhood as parents are supposed to.

Jan. 25 - Some Firsts

2010-01-25T05:02:00.061-06:00

Jonathan is spending his first day at Carol's house for daycare today. I brought him there for an hour-long visit the last couple of Wednesdays to help him become familiar with the kids and the setting. He didn't seem too sure what to think of all the kids at first, but was excited to talk about them afterward, so I think he'll enjoy himself there. In fact, when I was getting him ready for bed last night, I told him that when he woke up, we'd go to Carol's house and he could spend all day playing with the toys and the kids, and he said, "Kids. Yeh!" Hopefully he'll have as much fun as he was expecting. I'll be eager to hear how things go. We packed his Thomas the Tank Engine backpack today, instead of his diaper bag, because he feels like a big kid, like his cousin Tyler, when he gets to bring that someplace.

Now he'll go to Carol's Mondays and Tuesdays, stay home with me on Wednesdays, and then visit his aunt Jean on Thursdays and Fridays. That was the original plan before everything happened with Garrett, and we decided to stick with it, since it's probably good for Jonathan to spend some time with other kids his age. Jean is absolutely wonderful with him though (I honestly couldn't ask for anyone better to nurture and love him while we're at work), and he adores her, so we didn't want to switch him entirely to a different provider. Plus he gets to see his uncle Jerry, aunt Pam and other family members at Jean's house sometimes, and I don't want him to miss out on those visits either.

Jerry got to witness another one of Jonathan's firsts yesterday when Jonathan got orange Play-Doh stuck in his nose! Jerry and I were both at the kitchen table when it happened, so I'm not sure how he managed to sneak it in there, but it was definitely a job to get out. We tried to have him to blow it out, but I don't think he really understands the concept yet. Either that, or he hasn't mastered the coordination necessary to do it yet.

He was pretty cooperative in letting me remove the blob that was already near his nostril, but I had to use tweezers to grab a few other big chunks. He managed to shove enough in there to nearly lose some up in that deeper cavity though, and as he fussed, I began to worry that he'd inhale it even farther. By the time we were working on that, Jerry was restraining his hands and I was trying to hold his head still, but he was not enjoying it, and with all his squirming I was afraid those tweezers would end up lodged in his nose too. Thankfully, I didn't have to wonder for too long whether Play-Doh might simply dissolve in the mucus before he happened to snort it out with one of his frustrated grunts.

Those are plenty of firsts for now, though. I'm hoping the rest of the week is rather low key.

Jan. 20 - Jonathan Videos

2010-01-20T13:48:00.004-06:00

Jonathan really enjoys singing and dancing these days. "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes," is a particular hit, but we'll also catch him stomping around the house and swinging his arms as he's "giant stepping for Blue's clues." Boy, if I had as much energy as that little guy, I'd lose my extra baby/worry weight in no time.

After his bath last Saturday, he spent nearly a half hour goofing around in front of the mirror "giant stepping for Blue's clues" and asking, "Where?! Where's the clue? Where? Where's a clue? Where? Where? Where? Wha-wha-ra-ra-ra-ra!"

He sure keeps us entertained. And he finds himself rather amusing, too. Any time he catches us sitting at the computer, he hustles over to watch movies of himself. "More pictures Jonathan!"And he doesn't take no for an answer very graciously, either. Those are the times when good distracting skills are critical.

Jan. 13 - One Month Later

2010-01-13T23:49:00.003-06:00

Monday marked one month since Garrett passed away. Now we've had more time without him than with him, and I'd say we're fairly well back into the old normal routine. But I still think about him when I head to bed, when I wake up in the middle of the night, and first thing in the morning ... Day-to-day responsibilities seem to do a good job of filling most of my waking hours, but he still has a good hold on my thoughts when the house is quiet and I should be sleeping.

I even had a dream the other night that I was back at Saint Marys' PICU visiting four babies who were all being treated for their vein of Galen malformations. One of the babies was six months old, and I was sure she was going to make it. But as I held her and stroked her peach-fuzz hair, I still cried for her -- knowing everything she had to go through, knowing that the blessing of her living many more years came with the question of how much her quality of life would be compromised.

This week, our normal morning bus driver, Jerry, was back from vacation. He's a charismatic, sociable guy who wished me well before my maternity leave, so I was sure he'd ask how the baby was doing when he greeted me again. Even though I had run through the scenario in my head beforehand and tried to prepare a response ("He's dancing with Jesus in heaven," maybe? Or something about being in a better place?), I couldn't find anything to say when he asked. A fumbling-for-words, "Uhhhh ..." was all that came out. He tried to help with, "Growing?" That would make sense. A two-month-old baby would normally be growing like a weed. I didn't have time to think. I had to keep the line moving, so I just muttered a "Yeah" as I shuffled past and headed to my seat. Obviously that's wrong. He's not growing. But what was I supposed to say? "No, not exactly"?

Thankfully, having been back at work for a week and having already had a couple encounters with people who didn't know Garrett's story, the well-intentioned question didn't evoke an emotional response -- just befuddlement as to what to say. I had some extra memorial folders from Garrett's service in my purse and jotted down a note before handing one to Jerry as I left the bus, saying something like, "This does a better job of answering about the baby." I felt bad doing it. How is a person supposed to take that? It must be like getting a punch in the stomach. I'm sure I ruined his day, but I wanted him to know.

I'm such a chicken. I don't have a problem talking about it with someone who already knows, but I just can't bear to share the news in person. I can't stand to watch as the other person's heart breaks, because then mine dissolves again all over.

But oddly enough, while I don't want to witness it, I don't mind hearing about people's reactions afterward. I don't take joy in the saddness it causes others, but there's some comfort in knowing I'm not grieving alone. And, in a way, experiencing it from other perspectives makes it more complete. Maybe it takes me out of my own grief for a while to see how deeply other people have been affected.