Changes

So. New developments. It's riskier for me to continue than to let nature take it's course. So we're inducing on Wednesday. I've worked out the arrangements with the grad school and my fellowship, so now I just need to make memorial service arrangements. There's an interesting article that Michael found to reassure us (and rebut anyone who might question our decision) on the moral, spiritual, and philosophical implications of our decision. It was very hard for us to make this decision, but we must do what is best and has the least risk to my life. Charlie won't live more than an hour whether he's born now or at 30 weeks. Even the full life support of my body will be insufficient for him all too soon, and it's not helpful to him or us to put my life at risk. We'll have a memorial service and he'll be cremated. After that, I'll have time to heal physically and to begin to accept his death.

No More New Year's

We aren't going to be celebrating New Year's anymore. As an astrophysicist, I can't get over the arbitrariness of it. It's changed so many times since the beginning of written record and is different in different cultures even now. Nothing changes. The celestial bodies don't line up or hit any special spots in their orbits or in relation to each other, and their movements don't change. I don't understand the appeal of celebrating the "unknown to come". I know some of what's to come, and some is good and some is going to be horrible. So why should I celebrate 2011? My son is going to die. Michael will *hopefully* get a job and we will move. I will graduate and rejoin the family and start looking for jobs. So good things and one horrible thing that will make the arbitrary calendar year of 2011 so horrible that nothing good can salvage it. So we're going to celebrate our blessings and take comfort in the fact that life goes on and things change no matter what. No matter how bad things are, things will change and get better. No matter how good things are things could change and get worse or better. But we have each other and we'll be okay, no matter what numbers are on the calendar.

This Year Ends With Many Promises for the Coming Year

Let me sum up the year in chronological order of events:

• Murphy died.
• Tigger died.
• Kristin visited.
  
• I got pregnant.
• We started applying for jobs.
  
• Kelsey nearly died and was diagnosed with laryngeal paralysis, but which is treatable with sedatives when she gets overexcited.
• We found out the baby is a boy, Charlie.
• We found out Charlie will die just before or after birth sometime before term.
• We decided to delay my graduation because there's no way I can get everything done given the new circumstances.

So basically this year has seen 2 deaths, a near death, and the promise of death in the New Year.

We're doing all we can to handle everything, but it's very hard. The latest blow, that Charlie will not live, has been absolutely devastating. He has a condition which is "incompatible", isn't inherited or caused by anything I did or didn't do, and is very rare. The doctor said that after Jamie's CDH, it's like we survived a plane crash to be hit by a drive by shooting. That does bring me some solace. We've done what we can to "make lemonade" and make decisions that we think are in everyone's best interests. I've decided to let the pregnancy end naturally (which is likely around 30 weeks but perhaps as late as 36 weeks) rather than inducing early. The doctors felt they could do so without much risk of a uterine rupture, but I'm unwilling to take any chances that might, at worst, put my life at risk, and, at best, put my ability to home birth future children at risk. Honestly, I'm happy to give him all I can while I can since I won't be able to do anything else for him. I just want him to know, somehow, that he is loved and very much wanted and will be desperately missed. The other decisions have been to not have him at home, to have a priest there to baptize him (if he lives to birth), to have a memorial service, and to have him cremated. I've also decided to either take some form of leave, or at least to ease off of work until after I've had a chance to recover from the birth. I'm hoping to still be able to defend in the Summer or as soon as possible in the Fall. There are logistics of what to do when Michael has to start his job, where ever that will be, but we need to know where and when before we can really plan that. I dived into knitting to help me cope as soon as we realized there might be a problem. And it's been very helpful since then. My Summer Mothers have been very helpful and supportive as have others on Ravelry, like the Three Irish Girls group. But as I sit here, saying good bye to what was a really painful year, I have no hope for this coming year. There will be good things, and some of them very good, but there will be one very awful thing that will forever make 2011 one of the worst years ever. We will do what we can to make life better for each other and for Jamie and Renna, and we will all be okay.

Hello Sophie

April 10th we brought a ball of love into our home. Sophie is a light-medium colored golden retriever. We decided after losing our beloved Murphy and beloved Tigger that we needed the love of another dog to help us heal. Kelsey has really perked up since we got Sophie. She's continued to have problems with vestibular syndrome having 2 episodes since Tigger died. But she's going off of a longer course of steroids now and is doing okay. Alex was a bit miffed at first and is still jealous sometimes, but he seems to be coming around to her, too. At her recent visit to the vet for second shots, Dr. Vogl proclaimed that she had the perfect temperment. She's loving and calm and snuggly. She is wonderful. She loves to sleep in Mama's closet, but also loves sleeping with Jamie. She's teething and likes to nibble on Jamie and Renna, but they are learning to push her away and let her know that's not acceptable. She's a good girl.

Goodbye Tigger

We lost Tigger on March 23rd. We think she had a heart attack early in the morning on the 19th. We took her to the vet in the afternoon, thinking at the time that maybe she had tweaked her back and was in some pain since she was panting. The panting was from advanced heart disease and fluid on her lungs. We battled for days to try to get ahead of the fluid and ease her breathing. Sunday she stopped eating and we tried forcing her to eat but using a syringe with really tempting foods. But she wouldn't eat it and only swallowed a little. On Monday the vet put her on what he called his "trump" card. And it didn't help at all. Finally, on Wednesday the 23rd, we talked to the vet again. She wasn't getting any better. Her breathing was still labored. She was lethargic. And finally, she was refusing food and water. We tried force feeding her, but she was strenuously resisting. She wasn't yet suffocating, which was a blessing, but it was inevitable. We didn't want her to suffer. So we agreed it was time to say good bye and let her go. More time with her would just mean starvation or suffocation and we couldn't let her go through that. We said goodbye and let Jamie kiss her and pet her. Mama and I took her in the car and Michael stayed at home with the kids. I got out of the car to close the gate behind us, and when I returned Tigger was having the last spasm of a heart attack. Mama looked at me and said she thought she had just died. She had. She died in Mama's arms. We didn't know what else to do so we went to the vet's office. The assistant brought her back to the vet and they had us go into a room. They brought her back to us confirming that she was gone and let us say goodbye again. The vet was wonderful and said some nice things about her, that she was a good girl who'd worked really hard and could rest now. She'd earned it.

She had worked so hard since she was 4 and had her massive blown disc with other discs going periodically, to the point of being on permanent steriods for the last 2 years. Mama loved her so much and she was her baby. Despite all the difficulties she had after her blown disc, she kept going. She hated not being able to sleep on the bed with Mama, but she knew she was loved and lorded it over everyone else that she had a bed all to herself. She peed on the floor and we cleaned it up after her. We kept her well hydrated and she only had one bladder infection, which is amazing and miraculous. She had great spirit and spunk. I'm grateful that she went on her own terms in Mama's arms. She was loved and she knew it. She lived her life doing what she wanted the best she could and loving and living to the fullest. And when she died, I can't help but think it was on her own terms according to her own will. She wasn't put down. There were no extreme measures or interventions by people she didn't know and love. She was in the arms of love, closed her eyes, her heart stopped, and she was in the Arms of Love. She lived according to her own will, and died the same way. We miss her very much.

She’s up there now dancing and playing, ears back as she runs.

Goodbye, Murphy.

We lost Murphy two days ago. He'd had an ear infection and wasn't getting better, so Monday we made an appointment for Tuesday to have blood work done. Then I went out to make him come in from the snow. I had to lead him in. Half an hour later he had gone into shock and we rushed him to the vet. The vet found there was a large mass in his belly that he hadn't felt there the week before. He said we could try some heroics and do surgery and see what it was. He suspected a bowel twist or the spleen. I said do it. It wasn't the bowel or the spleen. His liver was full of tumors and there was very little liver left. He hadn't ever seen a mass that big. Since Murphy was only 3 years old on October 9th, he must have been born with it. So they covered up the messy parts and let me say goodbye. I wish I could have told him how much I loved him before he was unconscious. Before he went into shock. So here's what I'd want him to know and what I hope he somehow does know: Murphy, you were a wonderful dog and a fantastic friend. I love you. You healed me after Brandy died, which I didn't think was possible. I hope we were able to give you the love you deserved and needed. You were my boy, and you were perfect. This tiny house is an empty cavern without you. Jamie misses you and is sad you're gone. When we feed the others, when we get to where you should be getting food, Jamie says "Murphy gone" and is sad. And it breaks my heart all over again. You will be missed and you made a difference in our lives. Thank you for loving us. Thank you for being with us. I love you, Murphs.

Short Update on a Growing Baby

Renna looked at each of us when prompted by our names. It sort of freaked her out a bit when we squealed in delight, but she soon recovered. She also took a step toward a toy she wanted. She is getting ready to start cruising. Of course, she hasn't actually crawled or pulled herself up yet (at least not regularly), but she does like to climb and stand. She's growing so big!