The Day My World Ended

I know technically my world is still rotating.  I am still breathing.  But, my axis, my center is gone.  Four years ago today - at 4:58pm to be exact - Olivia left this world cradled in my arms.

If you read my earlier post about her entry into this world, you might see something familiar.  Olivia was born at 4:58 am and died at 4:58pm.  She was born on February 5th and died on February 10th.  She died in 2008 at the age of 8.  My diva was all about symmetry, apparently.  She was amazing in every way.

I know I grew her.  I know I birthed her.  I know she looked like me.  I know she was mine.  BUT, I have heard for years, from many people that she was special.  There was just something about her.  She grabbed people.  There were people from around the world praying for her (thanks to the blog and list-serve in which I was involved at that time).  Each day, I could log onto my email and there would be digests or individual emails from Israel or China or Australia.  Some were worded in ways that were unusual to me.  That didn't matter.  It was the true love and caring that came through.  When she died, there were hundreds that poured into the church over two days to pay respects, some driving for hours to get there.  I was shocked and amazed and so proud of the way my tiny, wise, loving daughter had touched so many lives.

I know it may surprise you to hear that I did things differently.  Many are too personal for public consumption.  The easy parts to share are that I tried to keep some part of her life normal.  Olivia didn't die in a hospital.  She was home.  We enlisted hospice services.  There had been too many surgeries.  There were too many brushes with death.  There was nothing else to do to stop the demon that was the seizure monster.  So, we stayed home where she was happiest.  She was with her cats that she loved and who loved her.  Albert and Snooks stayed on her person or by her side as if they were fierce protectors.

She stayed on her Mommy as much as possible until my friends, or the Posse as they became known, forced me to shower and eat.  Although, toward the last weeks, people even fed me so I didn't have to put her down.  I didn't want to miss a single minute.  I cherished every second.  My God, there could never be enough of them!

From January 2 until February 10th, it was a waiting game.  It was gut wrenching.  I felt like my heart was ripped out, shredded and put back in a million times.  The last time, four years ago today, only part of it was put back in.  I haven't been whole since.  I am thankful for the love and devotion of those Posse members who have held on to me and kept me from tipping over the edge.  I am thankful for new ones who have come into my life to strengthen the rope.  Kelly is doing his part to be patient and tolerant of my lashing out.  I can only imagine what it's like to experience it when you didn't experience the event.

I lie here covered in my quilt made from her clothes.  It's been washed many times, but they still covered her at some point.  It's my way of holding her today.  There is nothing I wouldn't give to have Olivia Nicole in my arms again.  The only solace is knowing she doesn't have those damnable seizures anymore.

Thanks to one of the original Posse members, there is an actual star named Princess Olivia.  I've never taken the coordinates to a planetarium and looked, so I just look at the night sky and assume the brightest thing I see is it.  When you look up tonight, wave and say "Happy Angelversary, Princess O".  It's happy because there is no more pain and there are no more tubes.  That is how I keep breathing and standing on solid ground.

Meet Olivia

I try to start on this and something deters me or I get distracted.  As I sit here waiting for THE basketball game, it seems the appropriate time.  My love was a tiny Tarheel.  When I'd yell "Go Heels", she'd get all excited and the first word she said was GO.  Coincidence?  I think not.

Condensed version of the beginning....uneventful pregnancy except that it was wonderful.  If I could be pregnant every day and not give birth, I'd do it.  I loved it.  Labor was 10 hours almost exactly.  I received an epidural that was not effective.  It hurt horrifically!  I had minimal relief for about 90 minutes.  I pushed completely naturally for an hour and 20 minutes and gave birth to this beautiful baby doll.

I don't have a digital image.  Were there digital images in 2000?

Olivia had enough hair that I needed one of those monogrammed bows immediately, but I didn't know about them yet.  She weighed 6 lb 11.5 oz.  She seemed so tiny...she did after she came out.  Prior to that, she seemed like a sumo wrestler.  When I saw her, held her for the first time, I truly felt like my heart would burst.  I can't explain it any other way.  There is no other feeling; no other love like the love I felt as a mother.

Olivia was a good eater at first.  She had a good suck reflex and nursed in the delivery room.  She had been practicing.  She had a sucking blister on her lip when she came out!

Those couple of days in the hospital were calm.  There weren't any problems.  She barely cried except when she was hungry or wet.  She slept....all the things a newborn does.  We went home to start a life of pure joy.  I was joyful.  All I had ever wanted was to be a mother.

Little did I know that our world would change just 11 days into this.  There aren't pictures or other major items to document.  It sneaked up on us.  There are pros and cons to that.  There was no preparation, but there's no guilt associated with it either.  I went home and loved my baby.  She loved me, too.  Her favorite place was attached to me.






 

Stormy weather...why didn't Al Roker mention this???

There's a neurological term called storming.  I'm not a doctor.  I used to play one on tv opposite Dr. Drake Ramoray (just kidding).  I'm not a nurse.  Anyway, I know it has to do with your heart rate rising like crazy and sweating a lot and I'm sure many other things.  I probably should have called my neuro ICU nurse friend for a hot second before I started writing....I digress.

About a year after Olivia died, I was diagnosed with PTSD .  Most people think of it associated with military people/veterans or survivors of natural disasters.  I was told I had survived kind of the same things watching Olivia's massive seizures for so many years, coding, resuscitation, resuscitating her myself once and then her dying in my arms.  I had vivid, horrid nightmares, which turned out to be flashbacks.  I rarely slept.  I developed a heightened startle reflex.  I cried all the time.  Sad didn't even begin to describe it.

It was very much like storm in my brain when I tried to visualize it.  Picture the streaky lighting flashing across the sky, bolt after bolt.  Clouds of varying shades of pale to silver to gray to charcoal and they are monstrous.  Some of them may seem to be reaching down for the ground around you.  The wind is blowing as if you're Dorothy and your house is about to be transported to Oz...this is how it felt and feels in my brain sometimes.

It has been like that many times the past few weeks.  I was not expecting it.  It has taken me by surprise kind of like the honey badger snatches a cobra.   I wonder if it is the fact that I experienced happiness this past year and my guard was let down?

Regardless of the reasons, it happened.  I've been a woman on the edge for weeks.  Add in the God awful steroids coursing through my system courtesy of my damn asthma and I'm sure there are some who'd call me a raging bitch.

I was able to get Olivia's birthday flowers placed.  That took away some of the anxiety.  I swear, one of the afternoons or sleepless nights, I'm going to tell her story.  I just have to be able to keep steady fingers to type.  

Angel Birthday

Happy birthday in Heaven to my beautiful Olivia.

12 years ago, I was bringing the most loving, precious, beautiful girl there would ever be into this world.  Her huge blue eyes took my breath away.  It could have also been the excruciating pain of natural childbirth, but I'm going with the eyes.

I labored with Olivia for 10 hours.  I pushed for an hour and 20 minutes.  She looked perfect.  She nursed in the delivery room.  She never slept in that plastic bassinet in the hospital.  She was always on me or her dad, mostly me.  There was no hint of any problem or the nightmares to come. 

February 5, 2000, is the best day I ever lived. 

Ratel is back

There comes a point when anger overrides hurt.  My heart has hurt all week.  I am a softie.  I let my feelings get hurt very easily.  I have expectations that people will treat me the way they want to be treated.  No, I do not do that all day, every day, but it is something I inherently believe.  There are those near and dear to me who have heard the concept and that is all.  I am sick to death of excuses.  I want to vomit every time mouths open because I know it is a load of shit about to be dumped.  I excused myself from a situation yesterday that may temporarily cause some inconvenience for these folks.  I'd much rather that happen than my baggage cause them emotional damage next week.  My Olivia emotional baggage can fill the car of an Amtrak train.  And hell yes I'm dealing with it today even though it's not her actual birthday or anniversary day!  What an idiotic thing to say! (different situation yesterday)

Sometimes, I feel like I am either completely losing my ability to communicate with people or some people simply cannot fathom how horrendous and difficult even the smallest task can be right now and over the next few days.  **NEWS FLASH**  I am struggling to get out of bed, shower and make it to work.  If it weren't for The Bloggess and Jon Stewart  (mocking all political news-especially Mitt Romney's idiotic blunders) to entertain me, I'm not sure I would make it through the next 7 days.

                 My spines are up.  I am Ratel.  I don't care.  I don't give a shit.  I am a badass.