~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~October 31, 1983 ~ February 26, 1984
My precious angel baby came into this world with many battles to face, but she was a resilient little soul and fought whatever came her way. After serious complications before and during childbirth, Ashley Michelle, my one and only child, was born with very serious medical problems. It is my belief she was not alive at birth nor had she been for some time prior. All the gizmos and gadgets in the world could not detect a heartbeat.
Immediately after her arrival, the 7 doctors and nurses in the delivery room whisked her away and quickly began resuscitation. After some time I asked why she hadn’t cried yet. A nurse said, “This baby may never cry”.
They said she was blind and deaf. They said she couldn’t swallow or breathe on her own. They said she was having seizures and would have to be put into a drug-induced coma. They said she probably wouldn’t make it more than a few days and I should begin making arrangements.
After a few days, they decided to revive her from her coma, expecting more seizures and complications. No sir, she behaved like a perfect little lady and appeared happy to be awake.
The doctors didn’t know what to do, it was going on a week now and they really did not expect her to make it this far. I had remained in the hospital the entire time. Waiting and crying, crying and waiting. I can’t recall how long it was before I even got to hold her. She had several IV’s in various parts of her body, heart, lung and blood pressure monitors as well as the ventilator. All this in her tiny little oxygen-rich temperature-controlled pod.
After a little more time, the doctors started talking about pulling the plug; this was costing a lot of money. $1,000 a day dontcha know. What did we want to do?
What do they mean what do we want to do? We want to enjoy each other for the short time we have. That’s what we want to do.
And thus began the persuasion. “She won’t last much longer you know”. “There’s no way we can keep her on the ventilator forever and she won’t live more than a couple of hours after we remove it”. “You’re going to have to take her home sooner or later and she will die there, are you prepared for that?”
Um NO! I am NOT prepared for that. Is anybody prepared for that? I asked when I could take her home.
“Oh she’s not well enough to go home yet”.
I was forced into a brief course in neurology, I saw more rubber brains than any person needs to see. It wasn’t out of a need to know or any sort of compassion. I was fully aware what an extended lack of oxygen to the brain could do. This was a pressure tactic to convince me to give my consent to disconnect the ventilator.
I thought I was pro euthanasia up until then, and part of me still is. I guess if it’s concerning me and only me, I could make that decision. This was a tiny little baby, my flesh and blood, and they wanted me to give my permission to end her life. Every single day when I went to see her, a doctor or nurse would ask if a decision had been made yet. I wanted to say yes, this was no life for anybody, but I just couldn’t. This was not a decision I felt was mine to make. So they made it for me.
When Ashley was about a month old, I awoke to the shriek of the telephone in the middle of the night. Not good under normal circumstances. I was informed Ashley had pulled out her ventilator. Oh sure she did. This tiny little heavily-medicated-barely-able-to-move baby pulled out her ventilator? The same ventilator that’s strapped and taped to her head? Of course I did not believe that for a second, but knew it was for the best for her, and was thankful I did not have to make that decision. I expected the next words to be, “She passed away”. No sir. She started breathing all by herself like she’d never known anything different.
I was finally able to hold her, no matter how complicated the endeavor. Scrub up, don the gown and mask, ensure you are not getting the IV lines hooked on anything, ensure the oxygen tube is placed in her face at all times, ensure she is bundled up and warm. And ensure her heart monitor does not fall off because that is one noise you never want to hear. The flat lining is horrendous on its own. Add in a few sirens to alert the medical staff and you have a full blown panic situation. I’m not sure if the paddles at every station were for the babies or the parents.
Shortly after her ventilator was removed, Ashley finally let out her first wail. Music to my ears would be a gross understatement. Janis Joplin had nothing over this kid.
The next crisis was the IV’s. Eventually her internal organs would fail and she could not be nourished this way indefinitely. The only option was a feeding tube inserted directly into her stomach. She came out of that surgery with flying colours, even though I was told to expect the worse.
After 2 months Ashley was doing quite well under the circumstances, and was ready to be moved out of the intensive care nursery and into the children’s hospital. Now she was in a regular crib, no IV’s, no monitors, no ventilator. The feeding tube was all that tethered her to her bed, and that problem was easily rectified with a good strong pair of clamps.
It was time to start making arrangements to bring her home; they estimated that within a month she would be stable enough. There was even talk of being able to take her out for day trips, weather permitting. The experts were dumbfounded. How she had survived this long was completely beyond them and their machines.
I learned the physiotherapy required to keep her lungs clear, as she was still unable to swallow. I learned how to operate the suction machine to clear her lungs and airways. I learned how to perform a saline nasal wash and I learned NOT to disconnect the feeding tube from it’s feedbag before clamping it off first.
On the evening of February 26, 1984, Ashley decided the fight was up and it was time to go home.
She was cremated and placed in little box which I kept in my nightstand for 21 years. Even after her biological father and I split up, I took her with me and she remained in the nightstand. I’m not sure why. Maybe I wasn’t ready to let her go, maybe she wasn’t ready to go, maybe the time wasn’t right. I knew I wanted to have a private ceremony for her, and I knew I wanted to scatter Ashley’s ashes under a mountain ash tree, preferably in the mountains.
After BWB and I got together, he started to hear a small girl’s voice calling his name. Not knowing any small girls who would be trying to communicate with him, I wondered if it was Ashley. She probably knows better than anybody how dense her mother can be at times, so she went to him to get my attention. It was at this time I told him of my desire to say goodbye to her, and he asked if there was something wrong with the ash tree in front of our new house. I said no, there certainly was not.
So, on the night of what would have been her 21st birthday, at the exact time of her birth, 2:27 am, we had our little ceremony under our ash tree, said our goodbyes, and she flew off to do whatever it is she was sent here to do. Funny and sad, I never thought of her biological father as her father. BWB, Ashley and I all bonded that night in a peculiar and enchanting manner. I can’t help but feel some sort of spiritual adoption or reconnection transpired.
BWB doesn’t hear Ashley anymore. I’m going to take that as a sign of contentment.
We love you angel
Originally Posted February 26, 2007
