It happens every year. As we get closer to Korbin's birthday the flashbacks to moments leading up to his birth resurface and I'm suddenly lost in a moment in time, stuck remembering some of the worst parts of the day leading up to his birth and death. I'm in school now, just started Monday, and so my mind is being pulled away from the usual more constant flashbacks that occur each year and leave me emotionally and physically drained. But alas, here we are again.
This time, it was school that triggered it. Part of a discussion board had me thinking about how we talk to patients before procedures, such as retrievals and transfers. My mind went quickly to focus on retrievals and how much we, the embryologists, attempt to keep the patient's attention and distract them while the anesthesiologist puts needles in and starts their IVs. It's a welcome distraction for the patients, and sometimes they express such gratitude for what we are able to do for them. Collect something so precious and safely tuck them away till it's time for icsi, blast development, and hopefully transfer as an embryo back in to the patient's uterus.
My mind suddenly flashed to the moments before Korbin was born and being whisked away by wheelchair as someone (a nurse? an MA?) was telling me to call my husband. But I was done. The single worst thing I could never have imagined was happening, and I lost all thought and function. I just held up my cell phone and fortunately was able to spit out his cell number. I shut down, and couldn't even ask all those in the operating room to take good care of my son. Of course they did, but being so lost blocked all hope that all would be fine. This same hope we try to instill in our patients daily as they submit something so precious to our care.
I want to tell them I understand their anxiety, lying there on the operating table hoping to have a baby. But it's such a different stage. They are still at the very beginnings of life happening for a baby, and I was on the other end of the pregnancy spectrum. And I often fear that sharing my experiences could potentially place more fear in those wanting so badly to take a baby home with them. No matter the connection in understanding loss and wanting a baby, it is so isolating as well. We don't want to place our fears and anxieties on others, and tread lightly, tiptoeing around each others' emotions never wanting to tip them over the edge. Even though we know that in sharing, we open ourselves up for healing, and helping each other heal as well.
But I'm there, and my experiences allow me such deep and strong empathy for who I am working for, the patients. So despite the triggers and flashbacks this time of year, I still got a lotta love to give.
Friday, May 24, 2019
Necklace
I'm sure I've talked about my necklace before. It has become a piece of me just as much as my tattoo of Korbin's footprints. And yet, I knew the day would come when I'd have to take it off. Various (thankfully) minor health issues have been needing more and more attention, and testing for them requires taking off my K necklace thankfully for just a short period of time.
My first encounter with having to take it off was when I was referred for a chest x-ray of my lungs to prove I don't have active TB (tuberculosis). It never crossed my mind that the necklace would get in the way of the x-ray, and I was so unprepared to be asked to take it off that I started having a panic attack. Thankfully those don't happen often, and very thankfully the x-ray tech took a moment and then suggested I hold it in my mouth to be sure it doesn't hang down and obscure the picture. Crisis averted! But just that time.
Recently I was referred for an MRI of my brain with and without contrast. I called early to get scheduled (whew boy, that was saga trying to figure out insurance coverage and who I could schedule with even though several offices are within network...) and made sure to ask about removing jewelry. This was my first MRI, so I seriously had no idea what to expect. And of course, as probably many out there already know, it all has to be taken off for the test. What was incredibly to me, though, was how quick the test itself actually is! 30minutes from changing in to scrubs to finish. Incredible!
Asking ahead of time gave me about a month to come to terms with having to take off my K necklace. I thought about it daily, and would close my eyes and tell myself, it will be okay. It's funny, it seems most out there would be so worried about the test itself. My anxiety couldn't even focus on that because it was so consumed with how I'd feel when I took off my necklace.
I never realized how attached I was to this necklace, until I had no choice but to take it off. Part of it is stubbornness. It's like, there was this unending cycle of wearing the necklace, constant and unbroken, and this brought me so much comfort as it was something I could control. I've said to so many people that it's never come off since my coworker put it on me. And now I can't say that any more. The cycle's broken, but does that change it's meaning?
It's wild the attachment we can have with objects and they symbolism and meaning they come to hold in our lives. They can't replace people, until those people are suddenly and tragically gone from our lives forever. My K necklace is a symbolic representation of my first son, the son I wish to hold and cuddle, to listen to his laugh and voice, and see who he would become. And none of that will happen, ever, so all I have is my K necklace. (As well as various other objects that I hold with great importance in our Korbin "shrine.") Wearing my K necklace keeps him alive in my heart, it keeps him close. It's this tangible thing that I can touch and hold and keep close to me in dark times. And this is part of how we keep his presence in our lives even though he's physically missing.
This is hard to explain to P who has been asking more and more lately where his footprints are on my body (as we have Korbin's footprints tattooed). I explain that he is here with us, we get to see his beautiful feet every day, but Korbin isn't here and so this is for our memory of him. P still wants me to get his footprints tattooed as well. I know he'll understand someday.
Though these objects will never be able to replace Korbin's presence in our lives, they are just one way we are able to show and hold our love for him daily. Because we got a lotta love to give.
My first encounter with having to take it off was when I was referred for a chest x-ray of my lungs to prove I don't have active TB (tuberculosis). It never crossed my mind that the necklace would get in the way of the x-ray, and I was so unprepared to be asked to take it off that I started having a panic attack. Thankfully those don't happen often, and very thankfully the x-ray tech took a moment and then suggested I hold it in my mouth to be sure it doesn't hang down and obscure the picture. Crisis averted! But just that time.
Recently I was referred for an MRI of my brain with and without contrast. I called early to get scheduled (whew boy, that was saga trying to figure out insurance coverage and who I could schedule with even though several offices are within network...) and made sure to ask about removing jewelry. This was my first MRI, so I seriously had no idea what to expect. And of course, as probably many out there already know, it all has to be taken off for the test. What was incredibly to me, though, was how quick the test itself actually is! 30minutes from changing in to scrubs to finish. Incredible!
Asking ahead of time gave me about a month to come to terms with having to take off my K necklace. I thought about it daily, and would close my eyes and tell myself, it will be okay. It's funny, it seems most out there would be so worried about the test itself. My anxiety couldn't even focus on that because it was so consumed with how I'd feel when I took off my necklace.
I never realized how attached I was to this necklace, until I had no choice but to take it off. Part of it is stubbornness. It's like, there was this unending cycle of wearing the necklace, constant and unbroken, and this brought me so much comfort as it was something I could control. I've said to so many people that it's never come off since my coworker put it on me. And now I can't say that any more. The cycle's broken, but does that change it's meaning?
It's wild the attachment we can have with objects and they symbolism and meaning they come to hold in our lives. They can't replace people, until those people are suddenly and tragically gone from our lives forever. My K necklace is a symbolic representation of my first son, the son I wish to hold and cuddle, to listen to his laugh and voice, and see who he would become. And none of that will happen, ever, so all I have is my K necklace. (As well as various other objects that I hold with great importance in our Korbin "shrine.") Wearing my K necklace keeps him alive in my heart, it keeps him close. It's this tangible thing that I can touch and hold and keep close to me in dark times. And this is part of how we keep his presence in our lives even though he's physically missing.
This is hard to explain to P who has been asking more and more lately where his footprints are on my body (as we have Korbin's footprints tattooed). I explain that he is here with us, we get to see his beautiful feet every day, but Korbin isn't here and so this is for our memory of him. P still wants me to get his footprints tattooed as well. I know he'll understand someday.
Though these objects will never be able to replace Korbin's presence in our lives, they are just one way we are able to show and hold our love for him daily. Because we got a lotta love to give.
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