Bassettmama Blogs: August 2009

Friday, August 28, 2009

One year can change your life.

One year. 365 days. 52 weeks. 12 months. 4 seasons. Howevermany new moons. Millions of moments.

One year ago, Heidi Jean was bordering on 6 weeks old. Mom and Dad were getting used to spending our evenings bouncing on the yoga ball. Our biggest problems were a gassy baby, difficulty breastfeeding, and lack of sleep.

One year ago.

And in the blink of an eye everything changed. A word that had only been uttered in our family when talking about Great Aunts and distant cousins was now directed at my not-even-two-year-old nephew. Cancer. Not just any cancer. Stage IV Neuroblastoma (read up, it's not pretty).

The next few months were spent taking over childcare for Triston, Seth, and Kaileigh, taking trips to Madison to see Laura and Keagen, and praying. The bad news seemed to be never ending. No sooner were Laura and Keagen home than an infection cropped up and they were heading back down to the hospital. The one with lights that were shaped like dragonflies. When they were home, home health was there with IV poles and liquid feedings and enough needles to fill tens of sharps containers.

It seemed the only good news we had was on surgery day. The surgery went so much faster than we anticipated. In fact, we were all down in the hospital cafeteria when Laura's phone rang. He was out of surgery, we needed to make sure that we were back in the room soon so the surgeon could come and brief us on how it had gone. When he came in, we all held our breaths in anticipation. He made it sound so good, he got everything that he could see, made a large incision from one armpit across the tummy diagonally down. Lots of scraping and he'd gotten it. Everything that he could see.

His next scan showed cancer still remained. The stem cell transplant was his only hope. In the months in between the surgery and the stem cell transplant, Keagen became a Keagen we had only dreamt about. He was so happy, always laughing and giggling. Of course, he was also swollen nearly beyond recognition from the steroids. It's easy to tell what period that was when you look at the pictures. His hair had grown back in a dark brown instead of his light blond. And he always had a smile on his face.

Keagen had the chemo and then the stem cell transplant. Almost immediately he was back to his usual antics. Infections. Shock. Life in the I.C.U. And just when we thought he was turning the corner, it was over. I think some days that perhaps Keagen had to get well enough to say "daddy" and "ball" before he could leave us.

The heartbreak of losing a sweet 2 year, 5 month old nephew has lingered over the last 4 months. Stronger some days than others. And I can only imagine what my sister and her husband feel. The loss of a child, beyond comprehension. But all is not lost. The memories are still with us. Keagen is around us every day, watching over us. We have to believe that there is a reason why we were given Keagen for 2 years and 5 months. He has changed us all.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Beach Babe

A couple of weeks ago Heidi and I went to the lake with some friends and family. Heidi hadn't been to the lake since 4th of July weekend when the water was super-cold. The time before when she'd been to the lake she had hated the sand and just wanted to be held.

This time, she was in her element. She loved the sand. She loved the water. She loved the other kids running to and fro. Once I got over my mommy paranoia that she was going to drown if I was more than 2 inches from her, she had a wonderful time crawling all around in the water and the sand.

Of course, now that she discovered her love of the lake, summer is over.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Heidi's Law

Similar to Murphy's Law.

Heidi's Law says that whatever mom and dad want me to do, I do not want to do. Whatever they don't want me to do I am dying to do. If they want to go up, I want to stay down. If they're going down, I want to stay up.

When my sandbox is dry and semi-clean, it is not fun. But my...when Mom leaves the lid off for a week of thunderstorms the sandbox is suddenly the most exciting thing in the yard.

The worst part of it is, I didn't even give her a bath this night! I just let her play outside in the sun until she dried and then dusted her off and changed her clothes :)

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Don't forget cat-like reflexes

Conversation with Josh last night:

I flipped the light on going in to the bathroom, he's already tucked in bed...
J: Bright! It's too bright!
A: Okay, like you don't do this to me every single morning...

I go in and brush my teeth, wash my face, etc. Open the door back up.

J: Bright! It's too bright! Turn the light off!
A: Seriously. Every morning you flip the light on, get dressed, sit on the bed.
J: While you're sawing logs
A: No way, I'm up the entire time you are. Even when you're out in the kitchen slamming the refrigerator 50 times. I'm like "go to work already!"

J: I am VERY stealthy.

Then I collapse in fits of laughter.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Vocabulary

Bad things do come in three's. In our family, unforuntately, it's been three babies. First we lost our beloved Keagen in April. Then at the beginning of August, Adam and Jessica's baby passed away during childbirth. And now Baby Bee has gone to join his cousins.

I wish there was a different way to talk about it. My mistake in telling everyone is that now everyone knows. Just today a colleague says "so I heard you're expecting!" and I had to say "well, sort of, not really...."

I don't like to say that I had a miscarriage. To me the prefix "mis" means "wrong." As in, we had a misunderstanding (I understood you wrong). It was just a big miscommunication (We communicated wrong). That name is really a misnomer (the name is wrong). It was a terrible misuse of the object (She used it wrong). I even looked up mis- in the dictionary and it says: a prefix applied to various parts of speech, meaning “ill,” “mistaken,” “wrong,” “wrongly,” “incorrectly." So what did I do wrong in carrying my baby? I didn't carry him wrong, I held my hand around my tummy, I walked at a gentle pace. I didn't drink or smoke or bungee jump. So why must I tell everyone that I "miscarried" my baby?

I don't really like the term "lost" either. I didn't lose my baby like I lose my car keys or the left shoe or the remote. I knew where he was the whole time, I just couldn't convince him to stay.

I wish I could have.

Yes, Baby Bee, you were a surprise, unexpected, earlier than we planned. But you were oh so very loved and you are so very missed. I didn't miscarry you or lose you, I simply held you for a little while and then I let you go.