Destructive Release

by L. U. Ann

  “Sugar Pants, please take a deep breath. I’ve been with her most of the night. She’s beautiful.” He smiles caressing my head. “We did wake you, you don’t remember?” His face screws confused. I shake my head. “You were pretty out of it after the pain meds they gave you. I’ve talked with the doctors and reviewed your medications, and it’s all normal. Your body needed the rest.” He stops to gauge my reaction.

  “I need to see her.” I try to move around him, but then I remember my stomach was sliced open. Holy shit, that hurts! “Now she’s going to have trouble latching on, Devon. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to happen.”

  “Lacey, please relax. The doctors are going to be coming by shortly to see if you can get up. I will take you to her, okay?”

  “How long does she have to stay there?”

  “I don’t know. After placing her in an oxygen chamber, she was able to maintain her pulse ox level.” My eyes grow in fear as he continues this long list of medical shit. “Her heart rate dropped so they will probably be keeping her for today, maybe tomorrow, too.” I cry from fear of the unknown and sadness she can’t be in the room with us to bond.

  “You missed Evan and Lane, too.” He runs his fingers through my hair.

  “Did they get a chance to see her?” He nods his tired eyes. “What does Lane think of her name?”

  Smiling, he says, “I explained we named her after both of our mom’s. Pulling both middle names. She loves it and thinks calling her Baby Lane is cute. Lane went on saying how precious she was and Evan called her his princess.” I try to slow my pounding heart while listening to him recount the events as the happiness and pride beam brightly.

  “I rocked her, sweetheart. The nurses taught me how to swaddle her, and I changed her first diaper,” he so happily acknowledges. I laugh, wishing I could have witnessed it. “I was kicked out about forty minutes ago for the nurse shift change. Apparently, the NICU is closed for an hour twice a day.”

  “Is that why you came back?”

  He nods. “My parents are on their way over.”

  “Oh, good. Please don’t let our girl be all alone in there.” I begin to cry wishing my mom were here. Poor Devon is going to be exhausted and needing a break. I’m not sure exactly how much time his mom will be around to help. Lane has Alex. Grandma Pain’s health isn’t well, and I hate to bother Becca. But, I can’t let Baby Lane be left alone. My mom would make sure she was never alone. Oh, dear God, why can’t she be here? She would have loved her so, so much.

  I silently pray asking forgiveness for failing my mom and taking the opportunity for my children and Lane’s to ever know the wonderful person she was.

  Thirteen and a Half

  “You’re getting a dog?” Lane cries on the other line.

  “Yes! What’s wrong with that?” I ask.

  “You’re going to have dog hair everywhere! Gross.”

  “Whatever. Is this where I tell you we aren’t getting just one, but two?” I cringe and wait for her lecture.

  “Anyway, I called to tell you Aunt Paula called me. Do you know what she asked?” Great, the woman must be off her meds.

  “She asked if Uncle Tony abused you.”

  “WHAT?” I shout. “You know what, Lane, I’m done. I can’t deal with it anymore. She’s always talking about herself and tries to have us feel sorry for her. I’m tired of the drama. I think I’m going to have to ignore her calls. With the baby coming, I need to focus on positive things.”

  “I know, Lacey. I feel the same way.” I hear her heavy sigh. “So, tell me about these dogs.” She encourages the change of subject and happily, I oblige.

  You can’t make people change. You can only hope they choose the right path. If they decide to travel the path that isn’t wise, you don’t have to follow. You shouldn’t sacrifice your beliefs or your values for someone else.

  It doesn’t make you any better of a person.

  "Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity."

  ~Hippocrates

  This is my first Easter without Mom. Will I always label each new milestone as not having my mom around? Or weigh the number of years? I remember Evan’s first Easter was not until a year after his first birthday because it fell so early the year he was born. Mom had taken such care in purchasing train themed items that we all knew would woo Evan. It was positively adorable to watch his face even though he will never remember. He will never know the great lengths she went to make him happy. The lengths she took to keep him safe. To make him feel loved. It saddens me that he won’t remember any of it on his own, but thankfully, he will have photos capturing moments like those.

  “Hey, sweetheart!” Devon scares me out of my trance while staring out the window at nothing. It all hurts. I will not ever have a memory to tell Baby Lane about Mom and her together. She will never have the opportunity to experience my mother’s soothing words, endless rocking, or any semblance of what it is like to be held by Mom. She was an extraordinary woman to have been able to cope with everything life handed her. I hope I will be half the woman she was.

  “Why are you sad?” This subject is usually discussed just with my doctor and therapist. At this point, I don’t want Devon to think I dwell on the situation. The less he knows about my grief, the better off he is. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. Since Baby Lane’s birth, the doctor’s have added a mood stabilizer to my antidepressant. There is no risk to my little girl since breast feeding wasn’t successful. I have postpartum depression, and there is cause to think I could be experiencing the lows associated with Bipolar. Only time will tell.

  “I miss her,” I confess hoping he won’t ask me to elaborate. I might be able to keep certain emotions from him, but I can’t lie. If he asks me, I must be honest. My silence is both a curse and a coping mechanism. I learned this far too long ago.

  “I know you do. I’m sorry she isn’t here. I’m sorry we didn’t stop her.” I nod, and I am happy Devon isn’t trying to argue with me. He knows me all too well. I will not hear of anyone saying it’s not my fault. It is. I will forever hold that regret. Not because I want to, but because I do not ever want something like that to happen to someone else. Perhaps I could stop someone else. Maybe I can help others know the warning signs.

  “Come on, Sugar Pants, we need to leave.” He strokes my back trying to comfort me. I turn around and look at my precious little princess.

  “Okay, Baby Lane. It’s time for your first Easter Mass. Are you ready to have everyone fussing over how beautiful you are?” I ask while she thrusts her tongue in and out. Great.

  “Devon, she’s doing it again. I don’t think the medicine is working on her reflux. Have you seen her doing that tongue-thrust thing lately? I know the doctors say she’ll have it to a degree, but I’m so worried.”

  “Lacey, I know you are scared something might happen to Baby Lane, she’s going to be okay. It was a rough start and hopefully, she has experienced the worse she will ever have to go through. Try not to worry.” Devon’s arms circle me in a comforting hug and his soft breath soothes some of the concern.

  “I just love her so much.”

  “Lacey, I love her, too. More than you know. It is going to be okay, and if something comes up, we will deal with it together. Let’s try not to get upset over something that might or might not happen.” I nod letting him know I will pull myself together. “She’s hooked up to the equipment and if she stops breathing, we’ll hear the alarm.”

  Turning to our precious baby girl, I take in her beautiful pink and white Easter dress. Even in her sleep, she is perfect. My stomach turns as everything we have discovered in three weeks seeps into my thoughts. Besides the issue with episodes of desaturation, both feet need to be casted from a prominent case of clubfoot. She is a poster child for the casting method. Her feet are easily maneuverable to midline. Therefore, surgery is not required. Her first casts will be put on this week.

  A swallow study during her Neonatal Intensive
Care Unit stay did not show any findings of structural issues to explain why she stops breathing. A pH probe test ruled out reflux, but the symptoms are all there and the pediatrician believes taking medicine will help her with feedings. Her lungs were found hypo-inflated when searching for the root cause of her cyanosis upon delivery.

  Shock does not even begin to describe after learning our blood types are not the same. We’re incompatible resulting in a positive Coombs test. With the amount of pain medicine that I was administered to control the pain of my cesarean, the staff needed to explain this to me a number of times. Frustrated nurses tried to hide their displeasure as I worriedly held and rocked my baby girl. Deceptively, antibodies stuck to her red blood cells causing them to weaken her immune system from dying too early. Antibiotics were given to cure the immediate concern.

  Upon discharge, Baby Lane had been forty-eight hours free of desaturations and bradycardias, which, to nonmedical people like me, it meant she could come home. She was diagnosed with post cyanotic episodes associated with uncoordinated suck-swallow reflex. Devon received many slaps over this verdict. “I’m glad her mother doesn’t have a problem with that,” he snickered in my ear earning him an elbow in the ribs or a slap—whichever was convenient at the time. I almost lost it watching Devon’s reaction when we first heard the news. The horror turning into a smile was almost my undoing. Devon could not look the doctor in the eye for a good hour after that. Our sense of humor helped get us through the stress of the situation.

  Instructions relayed during discharge were a visit with the pediatrician in a few days and follow-up care with a podiatrist specializing in clubfoot. Devon and I already mastered the technique to keep Baby Lane breathing during each feeding. We removed the bottle after a few sucks to give her an opportunity to breathe. Mrs. Holmes had not refined the skill as of the evening after release. Baby Lane’s face became blue and my mother-in-law panicked in addition to shaking her into breathing. Devon ran to rescue our little girl. “Mom, you can’t shake a baby!” he yelled, paling my mother-in-law who should have known better. The following day a medical supply company was at our house showing us how to place leads on her chest, and if we wanted, the belt that wrapped around her small frame. This monitor will sound an alarm when she stops breathing.

  Sadly, I have found myself hovering. I’m worried she’s going to stop breathing and no one will know. The thought of something happening to her is too much to digest. Every night I say an extra prayer over her begging God not to take her. The dogs are very protective. So much so, we allowed them to stay out of their crates. Wherever Baby Lane is, the dogs are right there watching over her. At night, I find them curled up beside her bassinet. Their sixth sense is amazing to witness.

  It had taken a while before I stopped jumping out of my skin each time the screeching alarm bestowed caution. The sound alone can scare anyone into breathing and possibly even wake the dead. The wires attached led to a machine the size of an old metal lunch box. Thankfully, a convenient matching bag and strap came with it for easy carrying. This made keeping up with Evan a little easier.

  Evan’s had a couple of clinging moments that are expected when someone new comes along taking part of the once undivided attention away from him. Devon has been wonderful in making sure he spends extra time with just Evan and doing what he wants. At nighttime, I took over bedtime story since I’m still recovering from my caesarean.

  “Evan, Mommy and Daddy’s love for you is like the water coming out of a faucet. The water doesn’t stop, does it?” He shook his head, eyes full of tears. It was that night while giving him a bath that Devon and I realized how hard it could be for a sibling to come along. “Evan, our love for you doesn’t stop because Baby Lane came into the world. We will always love you more and more every day.” It was probably too philosophical for him to comprehend, but it’s an analogy. We’ll continue to use to help him understand.

  The Easter church service is somewhat unremarkable with two young children. Thankfully, we belong to a parish where children are welcome to every service. They are the future of this congregation and, therefore, should be allowed to attend any service they are able without snobby noses eliciting ugly eyes. Evan greedily played with his train. After having a fit over taking the train and not the book I had packed for him, I gave in. I simply do not have it in me to argue. I’m already an emotional wreck, and as a mom, I’m learning to pick my battles.

  Following the service, we gathered at Blake’s parents for an Easter egg hunt and plentiful early dinner. It was wonderful and so much fun to feel a part of a family. Devon’s parents have always been welcoming. However, they are not my parents. I honor them with all of my being, but they are not always affectionate. I miss Mom terribly. The warm, inviting feeling exuberating from Blake’s parents is not the same as my in-laws. Without my mom and after shutting my father out of my life, Blake’s has filled some of the void. I haven’t spoken to my father but once, since he dropped off the folder and boxes. “Hey, sweet,” he greeted me on the telephone. He asked if he could come over the following weekend and luckily, we had plans so I didn’t have to lie to keep him away. Since then, he’s left a couple of voicemail messages that I’ve yet to return. I’m not having that talk with him. Time apart will dissolve our relationship. He’s too busy with his now new wife anyhow. Oh, yeah, that was something else he told me in that conversation. They are now married. No, thank you. I’m done with him!

  Grandma Pain is my saving grace. She was not able to be there when Baby Lane was born, but she is staying with us indefinitely now. I enjoy watching her rock the little girl who owns half of my heart. The owner of the other half is running about rambunctiously as the sugar oozes into his blood stream. He is having a blast with his cousins. Blake’s older brother has a son, Matt, almost a year older than Evan. Their giggles fill the air as Blake pretends to chase them threatening his finger is going to tickle them.

  “Look out boys, inky-winky is going to get you,” he tells them, sending them screaming in different directions. Lane and I watch in amusement as she holds Alex, who is growing so fast, and me, Baby Lane. Everyone likes the nickname for my precious little girl. Alex and Baby Lane have been passed among all the adults relishing the feel of holding an infant.

  By five in the evening, I’m exhausted and we’re on our way home. Grandma Pain in the backseat with Baby Lane and Evan as we make the hour trek home in the big black Expedition we nicknamed Big Bertha. Surely, two four legged babies are anxiously waiting for our return. Turning to my Kindle, I continue reading my recent lucky find.

  It’s a story about two high school sweethearts who are at school when they learn of the planes crashing into the Twin Towers.

  Quickly, I pull my Kindle to my chest, close my eyes while I lean my head back on the headrest. The heinous act made by such a baleful human is too much to fathom. How can the same species that created me, create monsters? Some people just have no compassion and empathy for the differences of others. The story causes my thoughts to return to sitting in front of a television watching the reporters unearth the devastating news of Devon’s plane crash.

  “Yes, Dan, thank you. I’m reporting from Hancock County-Bar Harbor Airport. We have been told by air traffic control that they lost communications with a private aircraft approximately one hour and fifteen minutes after it took off from this airport. We are not sure exactly how or why, but do know the plane was a two pilot twin-engine, Hawker 400. The corporate aircraft has been identified as owned by James Holmes, owner of Holmes Incorporated. We are not clear how many passengers were on board or if there were any survivors. We have been unsuccessful in our effort to reach someone at Holmes Incorporated headquarters.”

  A single tear slips out of the lids holding it hostage as I pull my Kindle closer to my chest. Thoughts of Caine’s violent words, the crash site, and collapsing on the living room floor the first night in the lonely apartment all flood my mind. Vivid images and corresponding fear increase my heart rate, flush
my cheeks, and weigh heavy on my chest. The anguish we survived at the end of last summer amazes me.

  “Oh, no!” Devon yells pulling me out of my daydream.

  “What?” I ask nervously taking in his big eyes, raised eyebrows, and turn downward lips.

  “A car hit something back there.” He continues to look equally out the side mirror and back to the front of the car.

  Turning around as much as I can, I ask, “What was it?”

  “Uh...”

  “Devon Lee Holmes! You better not be holding information.” I yell knowing he is reluctant to say what exactly hit the car. “We need to turn around.”

  “Lacey, there is no way it’s alive.”

  “What? You are going to keep driving without any conscience to find out if it’s suffering?” His lack of sympathy is aggravating.

  Fleeting glances behind us, I look for something conspicuous on the other side of the highway while I wait for my husband to make this right. “You saw it, Devon. Does that not make you feel the least bit guilty leaving it on the side of the road suffering? Can we just go look?” I cry with audible frustration and disappointment in his resonated decision to drive on.

  “Fine.” He sighs in defeat while I smile. I knew the compassionate guy I fell absolutely head over heels in love with is in there. Thank you, Jesus!

  I sit back and wait as he makes a U-turn at the next exit off Route 100. Turning around, it doesn’t take long for us to locate the large mass situated between the two lanes. “Devon, its head moved!” I yell unbuckling my seatbelt.

  “What the hell are you doing? You cannot go out there. Have you lost your damn mind, Lacey?”

  “It moved, Devon. I’m going to help it. We cannot leave it in the middle of the highway. It will be crushed in no time by a semi!” He does not stop telling me how incorrigible I can be. Rolling my eyes, I circle the back of the SUV and gauge traffic. Still recovering from my cesarean, I cautiously approach the goose lying on its back. There is a little blood, but not too much. Feeling confident, I take the opportunity God gave me to run out and retrieve the bird. I scoop one arm around and hold it close to my body to secure its wings, and with my other arm, I hold its head. Funny, he or she is not that heavy.