I haven’t driven off of a bridge yet. Thought you should know. And since I will be unable to post for a few more days, I thought I would give an update on my friend who was scheduled to give birth last week to a baby boy with a host of problems, including a major heart defect.

She delivered him last Wednesday, April 9th. The good news is that he is hanging in there. But it is still a very tense and worrisome game of wait-and-see. The open-heart surgery which was originally planned to take place when he was about a week old was urgently moved up and performed within hours of his birth. In addition to only having three chambers instead of four, his heart was not properly connected to the lungs; therefore, making it impossible for his little body to circulate oxygen. He does have other congenital anomalies, but the heart obviously gets priority.

She is not able to pick him up or feed him as his chest has been kept open to relieve pressure and allow for swelling. Additionally he is hooked up to many machines and she said there must be 20 different tubes coming in and out of his tiny body. He is kept unconscious to aid in healing, and I imagine for pain management. At one point on the very day of his surgery and, therefore, the day he was born, he surprised the nurses by awakening. He began to stir and nearly pulled out the tubes that had been placed in his tiny little nose. I think he must certainly be one strong little guy to go through the trauma of birth, open heart surgery and a plethora of sedatives and other drugs and not only open his eyes, but have the strength to move!

But the doctors have cautioned her not to thank them yet, for he is a very sick baby. She was at the hospital two days ago shortly after they had re-closed his little chest, when he suddenly began losing blood at a rapid rate. She had to stand there, powerless to do anything while helplessly witnessing this distressing and heart wrenching sight. He lost 100 cc’s of blood in a very short time, which has to be a lot for a 7 lb infant. They were able to stabilize him and gave him a transfusion and meds to coagulate his blood. Then, yesterday while we were speaking on the phone, she got another call from the hospital reporting that he was not doing well and had excess air in his chest. They were working on putting yet another tube in his chest to expel the air.

I know it has been extremely difficult for her physically and emotionally. She was released from the hospital Friday, while her newborn will be there for a minimum of several weeks. His problems are so severe that she had to deliver him at a hospital 90 miles from home, so they are not even in their own hometown. She’s been fortunate to be able to stay with her sister, but has been there for several weeks now which is hard for her, as well as her two-year old son. Taking care of him and driving to the hospital to be with her baby every free chance she gets, which is during her toddler’s nap time and late at night, has been grueling.

This brings me to the reason my blogging may suffer considerably over the next few days. I have agreed to take her two-year old for a while, giving her a chance to rest and spend more time at the hospital at her newborn’s side. I know there is a lot in store for me. My emotional state hasn’t been the best lately due to my own personal circumstances, which has dwindled my patience to nothing and my house to be neglected. Our new temporary addition is still in diapers, throws copious amounts of food on the floor when he eats, leaves a trail of destruction everywhere goes, needs constant attention and doesn’t always sleep through the night. In other words, he’s typically terribly two.

What was I thinking?

I remind myself that I was thinking how even at this critical moment in my life, someone I have been friends with for 16 years has it much, much worse. So, I’m bucking up, dusting off my diaper changing skills (uh oh, remember what happened in my last post?), and preparing to change my frame of mind.

This ought to be fun, right?

As those who have been reading my blog for a while may have noticed, I am usually quite passionate about my convictions, as well as most things I choose to write about. Today is somewhat different. Due to a great strain on me from a myriad of circumstances, I am temporarily lacking any and all passion. Just as motivation is necessary to be successful in any creative endeavor, writing is a function that can not be forced (not the meritorious sort, anyway).

Right now I feel as if the world is upon my shoulders. I am looking forward to things getting better, for I know in time, they will. However, considering the magnitude of major stresses presently upon me, it is no wonder my usually enthusiastic demeanor is pausing to contemplate, conserve energy, and to prepare for mourning.

In addition to the issues plaguing my marriage which essentially come down to deciding if it something I wish to continue, my friend whom I have mentioned recently expecting a baby boy with a major heart defect, is scheduled to give birth tomorrow. I drove the couple hours to spend the day with her on Friday, knowing it would be my last chance to see her before her life is turned into a whirlwind of hope, worry, uncertainty, and possibly immense grief. She disclosed a few details and other thoughts that she had not mentioned before, as I am sure they are too painful to talk about often.

All things considered, we did have a nice day together and I took the opportunity to appreciate her two-year old son more than I ever had. As I was getting ready to leave for my two-hour drive home, in what turned out to be a very stormy and ominous night, her unborn baby began to stir, pushing so that you could see the bulge protrude from her abdomen. As if to make sure we hadn’t forgotten about him, he moved and pressed outward for everyone to see.

After having time to think even more about her situation during my drive home, I had a very strange and intense dream later that night. I dreamed that the baby was pressing out so far that I began to see the shape of his face through her skin. He continued to protrude further and further, stretching her skin out in front of her. I began to worry he was going to break through, when the next thing I knew I was holding him with one arm. I yelled in disbelief, “Oh my God, he just came out!” but she didn’t believe me at first. I told her, “look! There’s the umbilical cord! He’s in my arm!” I quickly remembered that he will not be able to survive on his own and, panicking, used my other hand to dial 911. I shouted for them to hurry that a baby who can’t survive on his own was just born without warning. Before I knew it, there were people everywhere, coming from all around. We swept his mouth to clear out any excess fluid or debris and it seemed that he was able to breathe fine. I remember thinking how cute he was and the overwhelming feeling of joy and relief that came over me in realizing that he was going to be alright.

Reflecting on the random dreams I have had in the past that have managed to foretell an eminent event, I couldn’t wish more that the happy ending here turns out to be one of them.

Interestingly, I had no idea where this post would go when I began. It appears I found something to write about after all; although I truly fear the details of my next entry.

In life, we rarely know ahead of time what course our journey will take. One thing we can count on is that the path will often wind, sometimes split to produce a fork, and occasionally veer without warning.

At present, a close friend and I are simultaneously facing turbulent roads stretched before us. The timing is bizarre, and frankly quite unfortunate, for neither of us will have quite as much to offer the other considering our individual circumstances. Although we currently live 3 hours apart, we have been friends for nearly half our lives. In our teens and early twenties we were a crazy sort of duo and in all honesty, really haven’t changed much since. The only differences are that we are both mothers now, and our escapades and misadventures sometimes occur a lot further away from home than did our “opening ceremonies.”

I have recently come to one of those infamous forks, faced with a major decision that will undoubtedly alter not only mine, but my children’s remaining journey. However, I would not exchange my difficulties for the position my friend is in, as her course has been unexpectedly hijacked.

Since no life is impervious to tragedy, the question that has always lingered in the back of my mind is, “what shall be my biggest misfortune?” At rare times I have pondered about what horrible circumstances I believe I could overcome versus the ones I know I couldn’t. Let my house burn down, or toss me a bout of cancer, anything I think–just so long as my children remain safe, growing up to enjoy long and happy lives. I fondly remember with each pregnancy the indescribable bond that a mother develops with her child even before he or she is born. The more they grew, so did my willingness to sacrifice life and limb for my unborn child. The thought of losing one of my children, or equally dreadful, the idea of something happening to me leaving them motherless, is more than I can bear to imagine. These are by far the worst realities a mother can know.

Three years ago, one of our neighbors (who I had only met in passing) gave birth to a baby boy, the couple’s first child. The next day, while still in the hospital he unexpectedly died with absolutely no warning that anything was wrong. Although we had not yet befriended each other, I was utterly devastated for them. Living two doors down, I couldn’t help but cry each time I passed their house. I was desperate to reach out, but never having actually introduced myself, and being ignorant to their customs as they are from India, I was at a loss for what to do. Finally prepared to make a fool out of myself, I took over a platter of homemade muffins accompanied by a heartfelt card (and a box of Chai tea, of course) to extend my sympathies. A few days later she called to thank me and invited me over. I spent the most heart-wrenching afternoon of my life getting to know this kind and grieving mother.

It wasn’t long before my husband and I had built a friendship with them. As nice a time we always had together, there was no escaping the underlying sadness we all felt for their loss. We don’t see each other as often anymore, but I am so very happy that one of the causes is their busy schedule due to recently adding a second healthy baby to their family.

My friend of 17 years, however, has not been as fortunate with subsequent pregnancies after experiencing a tragic end to her first.

Embarking upon motherhood earlier than most I had a major head start, for she waited until after 30 to have her first child. Her first pregnancy ended in heartbreak when she found out at 18 weeks that the baby, although presently living, would not survive. The doctors said that statistically the condition was very rare–a genetic fluke–and would have no bearing on future pregnancies. They advised her to wait an uncertain duration until the baby’s heart stopped on it’s own. A couple of weeks later, the inevitable had happened and they induced. Her very first experience with labor and delivery–meaning all the pain and discomfort associated with giving birth–was suffered in vain; for the sole reason to endure such agony had been stripped from her intentions.

In her grief, she regretted the condition hadn’t turned out to be Down Syndrome, or any other congenital anomaly that would not have proved fatal. I empathized with her desperate feelings, but assured her she would eventually have a healthy child who she wouldn’t trade for anything. She discovered she was pregnant again just five months later, the day after their beloved dog was struck and killed by a car. Thankfully this second pregnancy proved uneventful and she gave birth to a healthy baby boy, who just this month turned two years old.

However, her third and final pregnancy in which she is currently in her final month, has not produced the joy and anticipation we all hope for when expecting. In her sixth month, she was inflicted once again with terrible news about the health of her unborn child. For undetermined causes, several of his organs have not developed properly and it is not known if he will be able to survive once born. He is certain to face open heart surgery within days of birth, but nothing beyond that can be determined. She has been forced to suffer a string of emotional upheavals as each specialist conveys a different prognosis. Uncertain whether or not her child will be strong enough to enjoy the activities of childhood, or if he will even survive his first few days, she must prepare for the worst, but hope for the best. She is literally buying baby clothes or choosing his name one moment, and contemplating a burial service the next.

What must make matters all the more difficult, is that inside the womb, he knows no danger–he is an active and lively fetus, stretching and kicking like any other. While she stayed the weekend with us recently, she proudly showed my awestruck children the strange formations caused to her belly by a knee, fist, foot, or other unidentifiable appendage. Without sonography, she would be none the wiser to the life-threatening problems plaguing her baby.

With the impending birth drawing nearer, I must admit that I am scared. I have nightmares every night. I know I have the responsibility to be a strong and supportive friend, which means to be whatever she needs at the time. I fear knowing what to say, or when to call, or if to call. I fear being too emotional or not emotional enough. But mostly I fear for that helpless baby boy and the magnitude of the grief which ominously lurks around the corner.

I don’t know why, but I felt compelled to post this today. Possibly because of what I shared in a comment yesterday about the picture in my sidebar I’ve entitled, Wheel of Fortune. My grandpa died just 2 weeks before he turned eighty-nine in October 2006. His birthday preceded mine by only six days, so when I was a child we often celebrated them together. Oddly, my daughter was born six days before my dad’s birthday, just as I was born six days before my maternal grandfather’s birthday. It’s kind of a peculiar fact, but nevertheless, I find it interesting and for whatever reason, I consider it special.

My grandpa’s death had a huge impact on me, and on the day he would have turned eighty-nine, just two weeks following his funeral, I felt this urge to grab a pen and paper. I didn’t really think–I just wrote what came to me and this is what resulted. I had never written poetry, so it falls quite short of marvelous…but I can assure it was heartfelt.

 “Happy Birthday In Heaven”

If you had any faults
you kept them all from me.
Humor, love and modesty
were all that I could see.

I’m so sad to have lost you
as all who knew you are.
I know it’s only Heaven
but it seems so very far.

I doubt that you can hear us,
those of us still here on Earth-
but a happy birthday to you
on this anniversary of your birth.

This day is still a special one
for it’s when your life began.
You were a hero, husband, father and grandpa-
one truly terrific man.

You meant the world to your wife and kids
and to your grandchildren–yes, all seven.
and so it’s with a heavy heart
I wish you a happy birthday in Heaven.