We always had a Christmas program. Every year, our children’s choir director, Ms. Mary Evelyn, would bestow upon us our musical. Somehow, I always ended up being Mary. I was ok with that because Mary always had a solo. Of course she did! She WAS the mother of Christ.
We rehearsed and rehearsed the musical until we had it down pat. It was fun and exciting every year. This was the beginning of my life–long passion for music. I have never completely stopped playing music. When I found out I was pregnant, a new dream began…the dream of having a child who would do these same things.
TODAY IS NOT YESTERDAY
Today, our church had the children’s choir sing. I sat and watched the children of our church sing and speak lines they had memorized. They did a fantastic job. But, as I sat there, my heart felt sadness I could not stop. It was running water of sadness that enveloped my whole being: my son was not part of this choir. I realized: My dreams of parenthood were completely squashed. Totally torn down the bone, and then, the bones of these dreams were pulverized. My son could not ever do what those kids did today. He cannot stand in one place, he tries to sing, but without words, he has no guideline, he cannot memorize parts, etc. He just cannot do this.
As most of you know, Asher is autistic. Amongst his myriad of autistic behavior, the most prevalent is his inability to speak. People ask, “Is he non-verbal?” No. He is verbal all right. You just cannot understand one word coming out of his mouth. He tries, though. He works so damn hard. I don’t think I have ever seen anyone work so hard for something in my life.
Our friends’ son walked to the microphone and sang his solo perfectly. I tensed.
“WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO MY CHILD?”, I asked God in an angry tone. What I felt in my spirit was frightening.
“Autumn, dear, I believe you meant to say, ‘Why did you do this to ME?’”
My entire being was silenced.
A FAMILY AFFAIR
Autism, as I always say, is a disorder the whole family experiences. In this case, Asher would have been absolutely miserable in the children’s choir. The way he feels things, sees things, hears things, smells things is on high alert at all times. Though my heart would soar if I could get him involved, he would be miserable.
LIFE OR DEATH?
What happens when dreams die? I pondered this throughout the rest of the morning. It seems to me Jesus told us what happens when dreams die.
New dreams are born.
Dreams, you didn’t even know you had because they were hidden by all the fluff, are resurrected. They are deeper and far more meaningful.
After church, as I was talking with someone when I heard, “MAMA!”. I turned around to the brightest smile connected to the greatest heart I have ever known: My little boy. I picked him up and wrapped him in my arms. As he hugged me back, the agony of the death of my dream was gone.
When you are a parent of a child who has challenges (and lets face it, who is COMPLETELY different from their peers) you watch your dreams die often. In that death you find it fertilizes new dreams. Our new dreams are of our children thriving inside of their challenges and facing their fears and conquering them.
I watch my child fight his battles everyday. Sometimes, he wins. Other times, he does not. His biggest worry is not whether he has his parts memorized or whether he has his lyrics down. No. He worries he cannot get his point across. He worries if he has made someone mad or sad. As I said, he has a great heart.
NO MORE SAD TEARS
My time of tears and sadness are over. I will, again, grieve the death of my dreams. It will happen. I am not perfect. I will, again, be reminded of the new birth of new dreams. Dreams bigger and brighter than any of the other dreams I previously grieved. Why are they bigger and brighter?
Because…I see God’s love every time I look into the big blue eyes of my baby. God adores me. God ADORES him.
My son is my dream. He embodies love and kindness. This is a dream come true. This dream is life. This dream can cause real change in this groaning world.
Even though my little boy will never be “normal” (whatever that is), God says to him,
“COME AND DANCE AND PLAY! Let ALL the children come to me! And, Asher, show me that booty dance! I love that dance!”
When my dreams have died, God’s dreams have just begun. No matter what roadblocks are put in front of my boy, God says,
“You are MINE, little boy. NO ONE can separate you from me. You just be you…this is all I ask. I made you perfectly imperfect. You have a purpose, and that purpose is to love me and love everyone else.”
In all the productions and chaos and pride and societal norms and rules and regulations and fake and falsehoods and bullying and fighting, God whispers to me,
“None of that is real. If you want to see “real”, look at your son. He is mine, and through him, I shine.”
My feet hit the floor. I concentrate on the way my weight shifts on the bottom of my feet. This is my only focus…besides counting my breaths.
I have a severe anxiety disorder and a child who has been diagnosed with a global developmental delay. This diagnosis will likely be changed to the autism spectrum soon. He is mainly non-verbal. He loves to run from us in any type of social environment (elopement), and he has to be carefully watched so as to not injure himself when he has meltdowns. These meltdowns generally end with an injured parent (namely me). We call them “atomic meltdowns”. The grade of meltdown is discussed between my husband and me, and it generally ends with us trying to come up with a way to help our son deal with his emotions in a more appropriate way.
I have learned to remain strong and calm in the storms. Walking meditation happens daily for me. Actually, several times a day. I believe I may have conditioned my floor to the metronome of my silence.
I walk. I breathe. I count.
I am not angry with my son. I am helpless. All of the therapy in the world cannot heal the shattered heart a mother feels when her child cannot control himself. At times, my son will desperately try to communicate, and I cannot comprehend his meaning. He will get mad at a toy and bang his head repeatedly on the floor. He lashes out with his fists and nails and leaves me bleeding and injured. My heart will never be the same from all of the shattering. Thank God for mama’s rescuers: God, a family who loves me, and meds.
I walk. I breathe. I count.
I hope…
The more I walk down this road, my compassion sometimes wanes, but more often than not, it surprises me at how strong love dictates my actions. I tell my son daily, “If I could pick one kid in the whole wide world to be my kid, I would pick you every time.” Why? He is my son. I see generations of my loved ones in his eyes. I see him, too…so beautiful and wonderful. Intellect beyond my own lives inside of his ever-thinking mind. Though not with grace, he tackles his life daily with the courage of a lion. This journey leads to somewhere. Nevertheless, the end is not the goal. The present is the goal. I try my best every second.
I walk. I breathe. I count. I hope.
I learn…
How could I have known my son would be my teacher? I love him with the heart of a mother, the mind of a therapist, and the spirit of one who knows love can conquer all. And when I feel like a failure, I learn that perfection is not what my son expects of me. He knows I love him. This truth is all that matters.
I walk. I breathe. I count. I hope. I learn.
I pray…
I will always adore the precious gift God felt inspired to present to me. I accept the gift in full and with great appreciation and joy. He brought bright sunshine into my life the day my son was born. Sometimes, though, I fight with God. I sense He does understand how wounded I feel for my son. I hurt when he hurts. Day in and day out, the small details are where I find the achievements. No grand illusions of major milestones being accomplished on time. The only the assurance is that growth will continue… no matter how small the steps. I pray. I fight with God. I thank God for letting me feel safe in my honesty.
I walk. I breathe. I count. I hope. I learn. I pray.
I realize…
It is not about the victory. It is the character, humility, and love I show during life’s brisk winds.
I walk. I breathe. I count. I hope. I learn. I pray. I realize.
I embrace…
I wrap my arms around the whole situation: Asher’s meltdowns, my fear of failure, the anxiety of everyone, and the joy in the midst of it all. I give it all a giant hug, and let it go. I set my eyes on the moment. It is all I am given.
I stop.
I walk back into the room with my son. He comes to me and signs “tickle”. He giggles and smiles. He reaches out to grab my face for kisses. He wraps his arms around me as if to remind me: You are my safe place. He does his silly dancing. He loves family hugs. He loves his trains. He is excited about everything, even doing dull household chores. He struggles to make the sound “Oreo” to get his favorite cookie, and is all smiles as he demolishes it. It’s perfect. The light from my son is almost blinding.
So…
No matter how many times I have to walk the floor, my son is MY BEAUTIFUL. He is my sunshine. How proud I am to be his mother!
Recently, I got the urge to look back through the photos taken of my son throughout his 3 years. It was interesting to me that not only was I watching my son grow up, but I was also watching my photography skills refine. When I first started taking photos, it was for the soul purpose of capturing my son’s moments in time. However, because I am a Type-A personality, I could not just pick up the camera and go. I began searching the internet for any and everything I could learn about photography techniques and about editing software. Little did I know that once I learned one thing, I wanted to learn another, then another, and then yet another. For 3 years now, this has been my life. But, when I look back at those first photos, I find myself wishing someone had a list of things for me to consider. Some of those first photos are beautiful, but I missed out on so much because I just didn’t know any better. It was then I decided to help out new parents and new to photography parents with a list to help you get “Snappy Snapshots” of your kids. SO, here we go!
1. TURN OFF THE FLASH!
No matter whether you have a basic digital camera or a more expensive DSLR, learn to use the light to your advantage and do not use the flash. On-camera flashes (the ones that pop up or go off at will) add an ugly hue to your photos and do weird things to your eyes. Learning to use your available light will INSTANTLY make your photos better. WARNING: Learning to use available light is an area of study that will take you years to master. Even then, there are new things to learn about light. I will touch on this subject later. For now, though, TURN OFF YOUR FLASH!! 😉 (For advanced photographers, this does not include bouncing flash 😉 )
If I had used a flash with this, it would not have been nearly as inviting. Ain’t he a doll 😉
2. TAKE TONS OF PHOTOS!
If you think taking 4 or 5 images is taking a lot of photos, let me ask you to consider taking 200-300. I know, this sounds crazy, but the only way to get those pictures you see on facebook that make you go, “Awwww” is by taking enough to catch the shot. I have been photographing kids for 3 years now, and I am amazed at the number of expressions I will get in a 10 second period of time! Take more pictures that you thought you should, and stop taking pictures when your kid is tired of the current activity.
We were just hanging out in our jammies while he played with a container.
3. PREPARE! PREPARE!!
Seriously…PREPARE! Not only should your batteries be charged, your cards empty and ready to go, and your location scouted out, but prepare your child! If your child is an infant or toddler, you know those times of the day when they are just NOT in their “happy place”. NEVER plan a shoot during those times unless you want punishment! It’s not fun for them, and you will not want to pull your camera out again for a long time. Pick a time of the day when everyone is happy! Make sure the kid is fully fed and rested. Then again, if you DO decide to take that picture because your schedule includes taking a boat ride during nap time, you can always smile when looking back at a photo like the one below. 🙂
Yes. It was that loud.
4. GET CLOSER!
Not always, but pick a session to get up really close you your child’s face. Detail their eyes, hands, feet, ears, and eye lashes. When taking these photos, make sure you are at eye level or just above eye level. If photographing a baby, it is very easy to take the “up the nose” shot. One way to alleviate this tendency is to remember: Eye level or a bit above. Sit on the floor…kneel…whatever you have to do to get on their level. If you are a new parent, you will be AMAZED at how much your child changes. Years down the road, you will look back at these photos and smile.
I love this up close because you can see the few little teeth he had. So sweet!
6. GET CLOSER ANYWAY!
We NEED those photos that show how much they have grown. But taking a photo of your child in a room can be a tricky endeavor. Make sure you get all of the child in the picture, but it isn’t always great to get the rest of the room in the picture. What happens to most parents when taking their child’s photo is that they end up with a “Where’s Waldo” photo. “Can you find little Johnny in this picture?” One way to combat this is…wait for it…here it comes….GET CLOSER! A trick we photographers use, and almost all visual artists use, is the rule of thirds. Imagine, while looking through the camera viewfinder, a tic tac toe board on what you see. Though most have the first instinct to put the main character of the picture smack dab in the middle, resist the urge and venture out! Put little Johnny in the lower left corner! Try off to the side a bit, or in the upper corner where the lines meet. Play with this! You can find LOTS of information on the web about the rule of thirds. You will thank me later. 🙂
Positioning your subject through your viewfinder can do great things for a photograph!
6. CHOSE A GREAT LOCATION!
There are several factors to consider when choosing a great location, but the two most important are light and background. If shooting inside, pick a room with a south facing window. ***NOTE: ALWAYS try to avoid harsh bright light!** Photographers Trick: Look at your child’s eyes. A reflection of the light will show on their eyes. This is extremely helpful when picking a good location. You want this “Catch Light” to be on their iris and maybe touching the pupil…NOT covering the entire pupil. 2:00 or 10:00 position is optimal. Sometimes you have to click off a few shots to make sure you have it just right. Don’t stress yourself over the catch light, though. Just make sure it is there. When you to this, not only do you catch that “sparkle” in the eyes, but you help yourself to some nice light.
My baby doll. Check out the catch lights in his eyes. They are not perfect, but it sets off the whole image beautifully! I just sat him in front of a window!
Choosing a location background does not have to be that hard. When I first started out, I threw a white sheet over the back of the couch and laid my son on the couch. Of course, it was in front of a south facing window. I was just learning to play with light, and I was tickled pink when I saw the photos! However, there have been so many times I have taken a photo and thought, “This would have been PERFECT if I had just moved his (insert item: toy, dirty bowl, etc.)”. When shooting outside, watch out for tree branches. They will make your child look like he/she has antlers or some sort of tree or light pole or electrical wire growing out of their head. Take a second and consider the scene! AND…As always, consider the light! Outside expecially!! Avoid harsh light, and instead, move into a shaded area. BE AWARE of hot spots. Hot spots are those little harsh light places that flow through the trees. One way to make yourself really mad is to get this great picture of your kid, look at it, and then realize the “hot spots” made he/she look like they are polka dotted. Even light. Just think….EVEN LIGHT!
With no fancy camera or no fancy lens, I managed to capture this beautiful photo of my sweet little boy.
Being that I am a photographer, I positioned my son’s bed in his room in the best place I could find for light. This is what happened: I go to get him up from a nap with my trusty camera at my side, and, SNAP! I adore this photo. And, did I say I was Type-A yet? 😉
**One more trick: Use a reflector. You can cover a piece of cardboard with aluminum foil or just buy a white piece of foam board. This is a more advanced technique, but you can use said reflector to “Bounce” light back on to your subject. Just a fun little thing to try if you are interested.
7. FAMILY GATHERING: MISSION IMPOSSIBLE?
No! Difficult? Yes. When it is just you and your child, you can, somewhat, control the variables. But when you are at a family gathering with Aunt Lulu, Uncle Harvey, Cousin Alice, etc., and you want to capture the scene, everyone is doing whatever THEY want. My best advice in this situation is to scout out a good source of light in the room and hang out around there. When Uncle Harvey makes his way into this light, shoot it. If Aunt Lulu wants her picture taken with little Johnny, say, “AWESOME! Come and sit RIGHT HERE!”. Now a’days at my family gatherings, people know what I do and they listen (or run…lol!). The main thing is to have fun, but keep in mind that good pictures require good light. Nest near the good light! If you have older kids, you have more freedom to do some surveillance. Go around, outside and in, and find your friends or relatives who are in good light and shoot it! Understand that these photos may not be the best of the best, but they can be SUBSTANTIALLY better than they were in years past! Embrace the imperfect!
My son and a few of his cousins.My son, nephew, and my mom
8. PLAY! PLAY! PLAY!
No matter what type of scene you find yourself in, PLAY! Stay light-hearted and fun! SMILE! When taking photos of your child, play! There are times your kid is NOT going to want to cooperate with where you want them to sit or stand. That is totally cool! Let ‘um go! Just follow, and when they do manage to stop in good light, SHOOT IT! The very last thing you want (trust me) is for your kid to frown and pout when you pick up your camera. Fortunately, I started out making “Camera time” fun for my son. Now, it is just another fun activity we do! It is equivalent to going to the park, coloring time, TV time, etc. It is just something we do that is fun! Create this for your kids! Show them the photos! Get them involved! It can be a really special experience. Not just because you have these beautiful photos to remember how amazing your child was, but because you are creating these great memories of the experience. One of the reasons I love the photos of my son so much is because I remember the events surrounding the capturing of the photo. I cherish those memories, and you will, too!
Sometimes you just have to catch them mid stride. I sat in one place in the middle of the yard and snapped the shot when he was in good light.We have FUN taking pictures!
9. KNOW YOUR EQUIPMENT and PRACTICE!
Read the owner’s manual. Seriously. Learn the camera, and know it so well you can do whatever you need to do FAST. I have learned my camera so well that I can change settings without looking half the time. When I do look, I change them FAST. I read the manual. And I practiced, practiced, practiced! Take out your camera and look at all the buttons and learn what they do. You can have a point-and-shoot or a fancy pants DSLR, but either way, you need to learn how it works. I have taken, literally, thousands and thousands of photos. You need to do the same if you want snappy snapshots of your kids. Depending on how good you want to become is dependent on how much you want to control your camera. You do not have to know everything about how to control the settings of your camera, though. There are many “modes” that allow you to control it as little or as much as you want. WARNING: being in complete control of your camera requires an enormous amount of learning and trial and error. Learning these things does not happen overnight. I am still learning the intricacies of control. I am certain I will never stop learning.
Deep Thinking. This is a direct result of me knowing my camera and catching the moment.
10. GET A DECENT EDITING SOFTWARE, AND USE IT SPARINGLY!
One MAJOR mistake most photographers make (and I have been guilty) is overdoing it on the editing. So, as I go through this tip, keep in mind that editing is as much of an art as taking a photo is.
SO…pick out a good editing software. I use Adobe Lightroom and Adobe Photoshop 6. Lightroom is about $200. It is somewhat easy to learn the basics, and you can find some nice presets for the software. A preset are predesigned effects for images. You can find hundreds of different colors and black and white presets for lightroom.
Photoshop Elements is a great starter editing software. It is relatively inexpensive (I think it is about $99 or so). And, as far as actions go (which are sort of like presets for Lightroom), you can download TONS of free ones online. The Coffee Shop Bloghas some very tasteful editing actions free. She is also a great instructor.
However, I will warn you, ALL YOU NEED TO DO IS ENHANCE THE LIGHT AND COLOR! You don’t have to get all fancy dancy with this. **Warning: DO NOT over saturate your colors. I see photographers out there who charge people good hard earned money, and the pictures are so over saturated that the subject looks like an Oopa-Loompa standing in a Willie Wonka field that was rained on with crack: all orange and gross, and the background is, well…neon. Please, use your editing software carefully. If it looks way different from the original, then question it.
This is an example I have for limited editing. All I did to this photo was to enhance the lighting and added a VERY SLIGHT bump to the colors. I can’t help my son’s eyes. They are just that blue! I know all my photog buddies think I do all this enhancement to them, but I do nothing to them. He just has some pretty peepers 🙂
I hope this has been helpful to you. Please understand that most of the skill you learn will be through trial and error. You just have to do it. A LOT! Try new things. Set yourself a goal of shooting something 2-3 times a week. Most likely, this isn’t something you will want to do as a career. However, you should be able to take beautiful photos of your child, and not have to wait until that photo shoot with a professional to see how much they have changed. Do not go canceling all your sessions with your family photographer, but do try to make good pictures of your kids during the “in-between” time.
I hope you enjoy this little Christmas gift of learning how to take snappy snapshots! May your holidays be grand, and your photos be beautiful!
“Son, we have talked about this! Do not play with the trash can lid! Come on, lets play with your cars.” As usual, Asher turns around and goes right back to the trash can, and the conversation begins again.
Though my child is much like others in that he continually falls into temptation and fails to resist, he has always seemed a bit different. When all the other kids his age were turning over and trying to crawl, he was perfectly satisfied to lie on the floor and stare at the lights. When his peers began to crawl and pull up, he was content to push with his legs and scoot across the floor on the back of his head. He would not even pull up to a sitting position on his own till he was 12 months. At 14 months, he had gained the ability to scoot across the floor on his booty. He had finally mastered pulling himself to a standing position in his crib.
By his second Christmas, he began to toddle about most uncertainly. At 17 months, he was finally walking. We would silently giggle at his gait, frequently stating he looked like Fred Sanford. It was cute.
Then, the falls started. One big bad one a week causing a monster sized goose egg on his forehead. Same spot every time. His new doctor had consistently commented on his head size. After all of the falling down, strange gait, and overall wobbly walking motion, she scheduled an MRI.
This week, we went in for the test. Of corse, a 19 month old and a MRI machine are not a match made in heaven. For the test, they had to sedate him. I kept telling him it would be ok, and that the drugs they would give him would just make him very sleepy. One mommy, one daddy, and 3 nurses held him down for the IV. He may be a bit behind in some things, but that boy has one serious fighting spirit.
After the test, Asher woke up loopy. It was kind of funny the way he was playing with the nurse’s name badge though she insisted he stop. I held him in my arms and waited until they said it was time to go home.
A couple of days later, I called the doctor to see if they had the results. I was not expecting the news: he has a cyst on his right temporal lobe and a small amount of water on his brain. WHAT???????? This test was supposed to come back NORMAL!! I asked a few questions to the doctor, told her thank you, hung up, and called my husband.
If you have ever been sucker punched in the stomach, you will understand the feeling I had when they told me the results. I wanted to throw up, scream, cry, and pitch a justified fit. However, the only thing I could do was dial my husband’s phone number. I held it together for maybe 3 minutes before the tears came. I called my sister and she kept saying, “Autumn! Calm down! I can’t understand you!” It is all consuming fear. It is just all consuming.
Once I pulled myself together, my husband had gotten home from work. “I’m going to the store to get diapers.” I drove along in a numb state. At the grocery store, I pushed my cart to the familiar aisle, stared at the diapers, and pushed back the tears. “Autumn, do not loose it in the grocery store!! You have to see these people all of the time!! HOLD IT TOGETHER!!”
I left the grocery store, made it home, walked inside, and crumbled to pieces in my husband’s arms. How could my precious little boy have something growing in his brain that should not be there? I wanted to fix it. I wished I had the power to reach into his head and remove that damned cyst and water so he would be ok. But, I couldn’t. All I could do was stand there. “Function, Autumn…YOU HAVE TO FUNCTION!” And, so I did with the added weight of a rock in my gut and a knot in my throat.
At this point, we were uncertain of whether the cyst was benign or malignant. We did not know what it meant as far as his development was concerned. All we knew was the basics, and the basics were just not good enough.
The next morning, my very distressed husband called a friend who is a neurologist. He was so kind. This wonderful doctor actually pulled the MRI results, read them, and called my husband to tell him the cyst was not malignant. Praise God!!! He also stated the water around his brain could be causing the developmental delays, but there wasn’t enough to warrant a stint. However, Asher’s neurologist would have to read the MRI himself to decide. We still have to wait till the end of June to find out.
In the meantime, Asher had a follow-up visit with this primary doctor to check his ears. We talked for a while and made tons of appointments to help out my little man. First one was the ENT. After our visit there, the ENT decides Ash needs tubes. This news seemed like rose petals and bon-fire songs compared to earlier in the week.
So, now, we just push forward with doctors appointments for vision, hearing, early intervention, neurologists, and out patient surgery.
My beautiful, wonderful, sometimes sneaky little boy is the highlight to my life. He is the underscore to my lovely poems. He is the smile on my face, and sometimes, the roll of my eyes. My husband and I will push down the mountains if it means he can live a happy and healthy life. Though we will have to call in the reserves to help us push and call on God to give us the strength and faith to keep going, those damn mountains are coming down! Of this, I am quite certain.
Yesterday, I turned 37 years old. It was the birthday I have looked forward to my whole life. I never thought I would ever see this age. I almost didn’t. This is the story of my near death experience, and how it changed my life.
36 IS THE LAST OF THEM
My maternal grandmother died of heart attack when she was only 36. My mother told me this as a child, and I thought, at that time, she was very old to die at 36. Mom told me it was actually very young. Then, on my mother’s 37th birthday, she told me she was officially older than her mother when she died. For some reason, I carried this around with me my entire life. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I wouldn’t live to see 37.
When I found out I was pregnant, concern grew in my heart when I realized I would be 36 years old on the day Asher was to be born. I kept telling myself it would be ok. When all of the craziness began to happen with my pregnancy, I turned off that fear and concentrated on what I had to do: carry the baby and be a mommy. This was all that mattered.
THE WEEK AFTER GIVING BIRTH
Two days after returning home from giving birth to my son, I was admitted into the hospital with fluid around my heart and lungs, heart murmurs, and high blood pressure. I was there a week, but I had survived. Maybe getting to 37 wasn’t an impossibility.
Soon, a schedule developed for our family. None of us had much sleep, but, we were happy.
WHAT IS GOING ON?
I awoke at 6 a.m. with Asher on November 29th. He was one month old that day. I had to go to the bathroom before I got him to nurse, and as I was sitting there, a very large clot came out. It was about the size of a basketball player’s hand. Of course, I thought it was quite strange, but I didn’t worry.
The reason I didn’t worry was because the previous Wednesday, I had a similar experience. After the clot, a stream of blood began to pour out of me, then another clot, then it stopped. I thought it was strange, so I called the doctor. They told me to come down to the hospital, and after they checked my blood, they released me and said this sometimes happens after having a baby. My blood counts were fine.
This was different
Back to the 29th. After the clot came out, I was ok. No blood, no big deal. I went in, picked up Asher, and we cuddled and rocked for about two hours. (Yes, I know…I spoil him with love)
When the blood started flowing, it was soaking my pants immediately. I jumped up and went into the bedroom where my husband was sleeping.
“Steve, you have to take the baby, I am bleeding everywhere!”
He took Asher, and I headed for the bathroom. I was covered in blood as if I had been stabbed, and it was pouring out of me. POURING. There was nothing I could do to make it stop. In the moment, I was concerned, but was unsure of what to do.
I told my husband to come quick, and when he saw me in the bathroom, he said, “We are going to the emergency room NOW”. He grabbed the phone to call our neighbor to come and watch Asher, and I was trying to figure out how I was going to clothe myself with all of this blood. I had my nursing tank and sweatshirt on, but I could not figure out what to do with the bottom half of me.
It Happened FAST
Only maybe 5 minutes had elapsed since I felt the first of the blood in the rocking chair and when I got up from the toilet. Steve had gotten me a towel to put between my legs. After I stood, while Steve was on the phone with the neighbor, I told him to tell her to send someone over NOW. The weakness hit like a brick in the face. I walked to the door in the bathroom, turned, and fell to the floor. Looking to Steve for help, I told him to call 911. I was dying and doing it quickly. Crawling across the floor, I fell into a seated position against the bed.
ON THE FLOOR
We all want to be remembered as stating something fabulous when we die. Unfortunately, this is not how it happened for me. All I could do was to tell Steve over and over again how much I loved him.
In the meantime, my neighbor had arrived. When she saw me on the floor, she froze. This woman is superwoman. She is fantastic at everything she attempts. But, at that moment, I saw pure fear. The baby was screaming. I figure he probably knew something was wrong. Amber just stood there. I said, “Amber, can you please get the baby.” You know, she may have been wondering how to get over to the basinet, because I was in the middle of the floor. She stepped over me, and Steve had to show her the toilet. She said, “Oh God”. Then, she pulled herself together and got the baby.
“I want you to know I love you, Steve.” I repeated frequently.
A couple of times he had to leave the room to help Amber find things for the baby. I was left alone. VERY alone. I prayed quiet prayers. For the first time in my life, I was praying as if God was there in front of me. This prayer was a conversation. Could I hear God’s voice audibly? No, but I could feel His voice, and I knew what He was saying. Words of comfort and calm. So I was. Calm.
I was still hemorrhaging quite a bit. Steve laid on the floor with me until we heard the ambulance. We have 3 dogs who love to announce the coming of any blaring cop car, ambulance, fire truck, etc. Annoying generally, but I told Steve, “I have never been so happy to hear those dogs howl.” He laughed nervously.
Paramedic Saviors
The paramedic came into the room and stood over me. “Some women have strange periods after they give birth,” said she. “Uh, no, this isn’t a period…look at the toilet” Steve said. She stuck her head around the corner, and turned back to Steve and said, “Go tell them to bring the stretcher now!”. She stood beside me, and I leaned over on her leg and told her, “Please help me…please help me…please help me”.
The whole time I was on the floor, I fought to stay aware. There were so many times I almost passed out, but I fought and fought and fought. I wanted to have some control of the situation. Yeah, right.
The guys came into the room with the stretcher. They picked me up and put me on, and then they lifted my legs. Ah…that was so much better.
As they were wheeling me out of the room, I was telling Amber where the bottles were (that we never used because I was nursing) and where the formula was they gave us from the hospital. For the first time, I was ok with the fact Asher was going to have to take formula. Up until this point, he had only breast milk: even through all of the previous drama. This was different. I knew I wouldn’t see him for a while, and he had to eat. The paramedic told me to concentrate on myself because that baby would be fine. He needed his mother.
IV’s Hurt
In the ambulance, they tried to start another IV. I had lost so much blood already that finding a vein was difficult. They cut off my sweatshirt. Very sad for me, because that was my daddy’s adidas sweat shirt from the early 80’s. I loved that sweat shirt, but I didn’t have the strength to take it off.
The first IV didn’t work, and it hurt like hell. It was the size of a drill bit, or at least it felt that way. The woman paramedic found a vein the first try. (Women rock) My blood pressure was something like 70 over 50. Once they had me stable, we got going.
The Ride in the Ambulance
The drive to the hospital was interesting. We were flying, sirens were blaring, and I knew we were running all kinds of red lights. You have to go over Chapman Mountain to get to the hospital from here, and as we were going over it, I looked up into the sky. It was a cold November day, and there were big puffy clouds covering up only some of the bright blue sky. I wondered how it would feel to die. What actually happened?
I was frightened.
The calm feeling from earlier was gone. As the tires rolled along, I knew I was closer and closer to death. I was not ready. I had a new baby, a husband who is great, but who would be in a terribly difficult situation with me gone, a mother who loved me, a sister who would be devastated, and my daddy who would miss his little girl. As the clouds passed by, I could feel the ambulance take the exit towards the hospital.
MENU OF SUFFERING
When we arrived, the hospital nurse outside of the ambulance began to spout off all of the tragedies of the day as if they were a restaurant menu. “Yeah, we have had a busy morning! A stroke, a heart attack…” and she rattled off several other life threatening situations. All I could think was how I was not alone this day in my fear.
They rolled me into the ER. About 10 nurses surrounded me and moved me to the ER bed. The stretcher was covered in blood. Though the ride to the hospital was mostly quiet except for the paramedic asking me if I was still with her, I did mention to her that I was still bleeding a lot. I knew it was going to be bad, even with the towel, but I didn’t know it would be that bad.
All Hands on Deck
The nursing staff cut off my nursing tank while an RN started another IV. Two IV’s going on full blast with fluids. My blood pressure was 55 over 30. There was one nurse to my right who was such a sweetheart. I looked at her name tag and said, “Hi Jackie”. I don’t know if her name was Jackie, but it was something that started with a “J”. She looked at me with this confused look. I said, “I read your name tag.” She smiled and said, “I didn’t think I recognized you”. Another nurse, Josh, said, “I know…it’s confusing when they do that.” They laughed. A moment to laugh at was exactly what I needed.
Once they had me set up, Jackie and Josh began to clean me up. Jackie removed the towel. She asked if I wanted it as she held it up. There was no hope for that poor towel, so I said, “No”. The ER doctor came in and told me my doctor was on his way. After the ER doctor left, I looked over at Jackie and said, “I am really scared”. I could tell she was, too. She was touched by this and was fighting back tears. She said, “It’s going to be ok, dear.”
RELIEF AT THE SIGHT OF YOUR FACE
The gynecologist came into the room, and I was really doing poorly. I felt relieved seeing his face.
Steve had arrived. He had to stay behind to get everything ready for our neighbor who was watching Asher. The gynecologist told me all the things they were to do, and the ER doctor kept reminding him there was a lot of blood. She instructed him to look. He lifted the sheet and said, “Oh, that is a lot of blood. Is she ready? Let’s go”.
Jogging Through The Halls
They wheeled me through the hospital with a slight jog. My poor husband had packed me a bag and had the breast pump bag with him, too. The bags were falling off his shoulders, and they were going so fast, he could barely catch up. He would catch up, tell me I would be ok, he loved me, and fall back again. If it had not been such a dramatic situation, I would have laughed out loud.
As the doctor was calling down for blood, running down the hall, and telling me we would be there soon, I suddenly started having labor pain type of pains. It was severely painful. “It hurts, it hurts,” I cried tearless cries. I couldn’t move I was so weak. The tram worker had the tram held for us, and we got on the train to get to the women’s center OR. My husband said my fingernails had turned purple, and I was whiter than the sheet. My body was dying.
I Love You
I said, “I love you” for the last time to my husband as I was wheeled into OR. The anesthesiologist introduced himself, and I said, “I know you. You were there for my c-section. I’m so glad it’s you.” The little operating table they had hoisted me onto was so narrow. I kept telling the OR nurse I was going to fall. They finally got the arm straps in place, placed the mask on my face, and I was out.
OPERATION AND ICU
The events that unfolded while I was out I didn’t learn about until later. I was in surgery for an hour and a half, I had received 4 units of blood, my blood pressure was dangerously low, they had to bring in another doctor for consultation, and they had taken my uterus.
When I woke up, I was in ICU. They wouldn’t let anyone back to see me for 2 hours. My dad had arrived, and my sister and mother were on their way. Mom had to fly to get to me. Several of our friends were there with Steve. The doctor came in and said the surgery went well, and though he had tried, he could not save my uterus. I was so stoned on medication, it wasn’t for another day or so that I realized the gravity of what had happened.
Good Nurses
The ICU nurse was an angel. She helped me when I became sick from all of the anesthesia, and she helped me find my morphine pump button when I was in agony but barely able to move. Thank you to all nurses. You are saints.
Great Family
Steve came back as soon as my blood pressure stabilized a bit, and I could see the stress all over his face. I asked about Asher, and he said the baby was fine. He told me about my family, and that my dad was there. I asked him to please let my dad come back.
The nurse let Steve and Dad come in at the same time. I told my Dad I wanted some of his homemade vegetable soup so bad. He smiled and cried.
Mom and my sister Allison got there and came back. I was so cold! The nurse put a hot air blower under the sheet. After about 2 minutes, in my drunken stupor, I told mom, “My goodies are hot, my goodies are hot!” I have never used that term before, nor had I ever heard it. Crazy. Mom and Allison giggled, and I smiled. Ah…laughter was a nice change.
Caring Doctors
My gynecologist, the one I loved and who had delivered Asher, had seen early Monday morning that I was in ICU. He came in and apologized for not being there. Crazy, huh? I told him it was ok because he had to be with his family. I told him they had to remove my uterus. Of course he knew this. He said it was ok because it was either that or die. I said they made a good choice.
After about 12 hours in ICU, they took me to a room. The next few days were absolutely the worst of my entire life. I missed my son because he was not allowed to visit me in the hospital. Plus, I wanted to get pregnant again. I wanted to birth another child. I cried more in those few days than all of the tears of my life put together. Another hard choice I had to make was whether or not to continue nursing. I chose to quit, and it broke my heart. This decision was so hard I can barely even think back about it without crying. This was going to be my only naturally born child, and I did not have the strength to care for him.
They had to give me another 2 units of blood as well. This made 6 units of blood total. That is a lot of blood.
THE AFTERMATH
I had intense pain from 2 operations in the same place in the same month, and my hormones were a disaster. But, I was alive. The doctor told me 15 more minutes, and I would have died. Somehow, I already knew it.
They released me from the hospital 4 days later. I cried and cried. How was I suppose to care for my child? I could barely walk! I couldn’t even hold him without having significant pain. Thankfully, my mother stayed with me for the week, and my dad came back for the next week.
It has been a slow recovery. I still have some pain in the area of my incision, and I still struggle with weakness from time to time.
Keeping it together
The mental recovery was the most difficult. I cried for 2 weeks, and my husband just could not stand it. The traumatic event exhausted his mind and heart. He was almost to his breaking point.
I called my daddy and told him I couldn’t stop crying. He said something to me that changed my future coping capabilities. He said,
“Autumn, you have to gain control of yourself. You cannot and should not live your life this way. You have a beautiful baby, a wonderful husband, and it is time for you to take charge of these emotions. I know you are hurting, but you have to learn how to live again.”
I knew he was right. So, anytime after that when I just needed a good cry, I would go off by myself, let it all out, regain composure, and then get back to my family. A mild anti-depressant helped out as well. I weaned myself off of those after 3 months. The time had come to stand on my two feet and be the mom and wife I knew I could be.
I AM 37 YEARS OLD
Now, my son is 10 months old, and I am 37. I know at some point I will die.
Here is what I have learned about death by almost doing it:
I am more prepared for what that feels like.
I know that though you may want control of the situation, the only thing you can do is fight.
Sometimes living after almost being dead is harder.
I am stronger than I have ever been.
I know that any day can be the last one.
So, I live my life unconcerned about what others think, but I walk hard and quickly towards happiness. I live as though I could die at any moment and appreciate every breath.
Happy Birthday to me. 🙂
Our Family 3 weeks after the HysterectomyAn important birthday.
At 36 weeks pregnant, I started having contractions.
As I was preparing for bed, I felt these weird pains. I told my husband we had to go to the hospital. After further inspection by the nurse, I was only dilated one centimeter. (Ten centimeters is where you have to be to deliver.) The “inspection” was very painful. Surprise! I used my breathing techniques from singing and yoga more than ever. Little did I know…this was the easy part.
On October 28th, I went in for my weekly ob/gyn checkup. I had been going in weekly since week 29. Now, at 38 weeks, I was hoping I had dilated more.
Nope.
I had been at 3 centimeters for 2 weeks. My doctor said he wanted me to check in at the hospital at 11:00 p.m. that night. A moment I will never forget. I was so frightened and excited. Then, my husband said, “Should we wait a little longer?” I am certain he could feel the deep glare I was sending him for even considering keeping me in this state for another second. It had been a long 9 weeks of pain and boredom. It was time to get this kid out! The doctor, thankfully, saw my agony and said we were inducing the next day. I love that man.
My sister and mom came to my house, but my daddy was sick and didn’t want to expose the baby to his cold. I appreciated this, but I missed him terribly. Steve and I checked into the hospital that night while my family rested at our house. Another unexpected pain occurred that night: the IV. If they had pushed a large drill bit into my arm it would have felt about the same. It was an engulfing type of pain. I have had numerous IV’s in my life, but this one took them all. I asked the nurse, “I bet a lot of women give you hell about this IV”. She told me that the IV caused her more grief than labor. I can understand. I fought my way through the pain with my handy-dandy breathing technique, and then I thanked God when it was over.
I was to “rest” for the night. They would induce in the morning. Labor beds are MOST uncomfortable. I may have slept for a total of an hour. With my hefty sized belly, back sleeping was out of the picture, and side sleeping was almost impossible. So, I just sat up and waited.
GET THE BOAT!
The morning was slow to arrive. The nurse entered the room at 7:30 a.m. and said they were administering the drug to induce labor. By now, I have forgotten the names of all of the drugs, but at the time, I could have passed pharmacy school. You learn these things when you are pregnant.
The little screen to my right showed the amount and strength of the contractions. At first there were little hills. I felt nothing. Then, taller hills began to cross the screen. I felt little twinges. The doctor came in not long after the nurse and said he was breaking my water. I was scared to death! “Will it hurt?” What in the heck was I thinking? Of course it was going to hurt…I was having a baby and it all hurts! He took this crochet type needle and popped the balloon in my belly. With all of that amniotic fluid, I told him he may want to wear a life jacket. (See THIS BLOG for more explaination.) I was not far off the mark. It felt so gross. It didn’t hurt, but all I wanted to do was go and take a shower.
Once my water was officially broken, the pain really started intensifying. “Do you want something for the pain?” asked the nurse. “Uh huh” is what I said, but my mind was saying, “PLEASE PLEASE!!” My mom, sister, and nephew had arrived by now. Those pain meds hit my system, and the party began. I was having the time of my life. We laughed and laughed. My sister was cracking all kinds of jokes. It was hilarious. My mother-in-law came in to visit, so I straightened up while she was there, but after she left, the party resumed. Was I in pain? Well, yes, but who cared? Life’s a party, right?
Wrong.
There are some pains a little pain pill cannot cover up. About 2:30 is when those pains started coming. “Damn! This hurts!” I grunted. My husband said, “Are you ready for your epidural?” “No. I want to wait a bit longer.” Before I had gotten the word “longer” out, the mother of all contractions hit like a monster truck. “Squeeze my big toe! Steve! Squeeze my big toe!”
I have no idea why I wanted him to squeeze my big toe, but it somehow helped. He was squeezing the tar out of my toe. I’m surprised it didn’t bruise. I breathed and breathed for what seemed like an eternity. Then the pain subsided. This pain was a strange pain I had never felt before. It isn’t something you can describe. It is a full body pain with the epicenter being your lower belly. It isn’t like a punch in the gut or like a stab. It throbs, stabs, punches, and takes over your conscientiousness to the point the true inner soul of your being is as shiny like a new dime. Though it hurt like hell, it somehow felt natural. Quite strange. Those little hills on the screen had begun to develop in to mountains. The tips of the mountains were off the screen at this point. Then, Steve asked, “Are you ready for your epidural?” “I don’t know” I said in a weak whinny voice. My mother, God bless her, said, “Autumn, you need to go ahead and get it.” “Ok, mama” I said, but I really wanted to say, “Mommy, it hurts! Make it stop!”
SHIVERS UP MY SPINE
I was never so happy to see a doctor than when the anesthesiologist entered the room. This was another scary moment. I had just experienced the most awful wonderful pain of my life, and I was scared of a little needle. He put me in the position for the epidural: sitting on the edge of the bed with my spine curved toward him. Steve was sitting in a chair directly in front of me. My mom and sister were behind him. It was simultaneous. “I have a lot of water coming out! I have a lot of water coming out!” I was so concerned that my husband was being covered in amniotic fluid that I didn’t even feel the epidural. It was over. Poor Steve.
“Do I have time to go home and change?” said my sweet husband who stood there drenched from the waist down in my son’s watery life fluid. “NO!” said I in nervous anxiety. “You can’t miss it!” “It’s ok, Autumn. Asher will wait until Steve gets back” mom said. Thank God we had someone with a level head in the room. Steve headed home for a shower and costume change while I laid there waiting with my mom and sister. The pain was gone. Checking on the dilation status stopped hurting. I was sweet. This having a baby business is a piece of cake!
Wrong again.
Just when I thought I had it made, it was time for the pushing to begin. It was 5:00 p.m. Asher was not dropping, so there was a lot of pushing to be done. The nurse said, “You are going to have this baby. You are going to push that baby out! No c-sections for you! We have a lot of work to do”. “We?” No, dear heart, “I” had a lot of work to do. You just sit there and count and say push.
RHYTHM
Steve had gotten back in plenty of time. They mounted my legs on these crazy contraptions where my knees almost touched my shoulders. The pushing began. “Push, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10” This was the count. Pretty simple, right? Not for Steve. Everyone was counting this way except Steve. His count was, “PUSH, 1, 2, 3, …” I had 3 people counting the right way, and one counting the wrong way. The clutter of sound surrounding me was annoying. Not only could I not feel where to push (a down side to an epidural), but I had this crazy noise confusing the whole process. It went on this way for about 30 minutes before I had enough. “Steve, you are not allowed to count anymore. Allison,” (my sister) “you are in command of my leg and counting!” My mother had one leg, my sister had the other one, and Steve was in the optimal spot for viewing the whole process. My mother, in an attempt to help me, had developed this patting sequence on my inner thigh. I didn’t tell her then, and she is probably only learning this now, but it drove me crazy. I let her do it. At least it helped me feel where to push. Steve took over my leg for a moment, and Allison got into position to see the event unfold. “I see his head, Autumn! He has a head full of hair!” She started crying. Only 4 months earlier, I saw my nephew the same way. This is something for two sisters to share. I will alway treasure it.
SERIOUSLY?!
After pushing for 2 hours, the world became fuzzy. The ceiling had begun growing these strange bugs that no blinking could remove. I was exhausted, but I was willing to push as long as it took. The whole time I had been asking if the baby’s heartbeat was ok. “Is Asher ok?” I asked when the crowd had silenced and become concerned. “His heartbeat is up.” said the nurse. “Is he ok? Is he ok?”
In walked my doctor. The nurses had been discussing some “lip” in my cervix, and they were saying something about the head turning.
In hindsight, I should have known something bad was about to happen when the doctor rolled up his sleeves. The epidural wasn’t nearly has helpful as it had been. I don’t know if my body was adapting or what, but the pain was returning. Of course, the worse was coming at this very moment. The doctor shoved his hand up to his elbow in me. My butt came off that table and I moaned, “please stop, please stop”. He then pushed the baby back up into me and said, “PUSH”. I did as I was told though a foot in his chin was quite tempting. The love I felt for the man the day before vanished. “We are going to have to take him” said my doctor.
NO MORE FUN AND GAMES
According to the doctor, my pelvis is kind of like a cork screw. I wouldn’t be able to deliver him vaginally. I didn’t care. I was worried. I just wanted them to get the baby out and get him stable. I was also concerned I would die.
I trusted my doctor completely. He is a friend of ours. Actually, he was off that night, and his wife was out of town. He was responsible for his children. I have no idea what he did, but he stayed with me. God bless him. Good man.
As I was being prepped for a c-section, which took about 2 seconds, I began to say my goodbyes. I was in tears. My mom and sister were so calm, but I am sure they were freaking out. My husband had gone to get suited up for the delivery room, and up until the moment I was carted behind the door, I was telling my mom and sister how much I loved them and how scared I was. Looking back, I should have had more composure. Oh well. Composure is not my gift.
The anesthesiologist introduced himself, and again, I was in love. They pumped something into me that was wonderful. The pain was gone. I was in la la land. Wonderful invention…Maybe my favorite besides the toilet.
SUPERMAN
Can I explain the moment I heard my baby’s first cry? No. I cannot. I was instantly in love. I was so overwhelmed with joy, I just cried and laughed. “Is he ok? Is he ok?” “He is beautiful! He has a head full of hair!” said the nurse.
Steve had gone over to the table where they were checking him out. He had stopped crying, and I kept asking the same question. Steve said, “Autumn, he is fine. He is beautiful!” Then, the nurse brought him over to me to see. The first thing I said was, “He looks like an Eskimo!”. Yeah…and he did. All I wanted to do was hold him and kiss him and look at his fingers and toes and nose and ears and belly. I cried and cried and laughed and laughed. Unbelievable.
Asher had to go into the NICU for a couple of hours because his heart rate and breathing were too high, but he was a healthy little fella. He was born at 7:30 p.m. on October 29, 2009. He weighed 7 pounds, 14 ounces, and was 21 inches long. Yes. 12 hours of labor. Longest day of my life.
I still had work to be done. As my doctor was sewing me up, I asked him to please give me a tummy tuck. He laughed, but denied my request. My mom had taken Steve’s place in the OR, and she thought the whole process was too funny. I was telling the anesthesiologist how much I loved him, I was telling the doctor only God knows what, and the belly was pretty much gone. It was over.
Wrong.
After an hour in recovery, I was wheeled into NICU to see my little fella. He was screaming his head off. Once he heard my voice, he stopped crying and looked over at me. He knew me. The most wonderful feeling in this world is looking into your newborn’s eyes. More love than you can imagine. I knew right then I would die for this baby. No question.
Little did I know, the drama had only just begun. Though Asher was just fine, I was not. The events that unfolded after the delivery were horrible, and to this day, cause PTSD symptoms. But, we will leave that story for next time.
