In the days that followed Flynn's birthday, I was overjoyed that I finally had the family I'd always wanted. The baby that I hoped and wished I would be blessed with was here and though he was early and we were unsure of what the future would bring, he was ours and we were so lucky to have him. Though I was once again home without my baby after my second hospital stay, I was extremely lucky to be alive and well enough to hold him again even though that meant traveling back and forth to see him. The time spent apart from my baby were the longest hours of my life. I was constantly calling and thinking about him. I sat there for as long as I physically could and whenever I could get a ride back and forth. In spite of the separation and exhaustion, I was happy.
I wasn't prepared for the never-ending guilt that I would experience. It started in the days before Flynn was born and I still have it to this day. Everything seems to come back to the guilt and the feeling that I failed as a mother before my son was even born. Though multiple medical professionals have told me that there was nothing that I could have done, that this was the best outcome and nothing was my fault, I will never believe them. Deep down, the feeling is unavoidable: my body failed my baby. I let this happen. I couldn't protect him.
The guilt intensified when I met my son for the first time. Instead of crying happy tears, I wept for the baby boy who struggled to breathe with countless tubes and wires attached to his small body. It was hard to make out his features with the amount of medical equipment on him. I was finally allowed to hold him and it was magical, but there was still this underlying sadness. His head fit in the palm of my hand and his body barely extended to my elbow when he stretched out. His hand barely wrapped around my index finger, and when he managed to cry, it came out as a squeak. He wouldn't open his eyes for quite some time and I wondered if he even knew who I was. After all, for his first days of life, we were kept apart. Did he know that I was his mom? I honestly doubted it. His amazing nurses were his caretakers and I felt that I left him behind. They were far better mothers to him than I had been. I couldn't be described as "amazing," I'd done nothing for him. Had I just done my job and protected him, he would be a healthy, bouncing, chubby baby boy. Instead we were here and though my son was perfect in my eyes, it was hard to see past the obvious tubes coming in and out of his body.
Every time I left the hospital, I felt guilty for leaving Flynn behind. More so, I carried guilt over the fact that I was able to leave. Was it difficult to walk out of those hospital doors day after day? Yes. But I was able to do it. I didn't always cry when I left, it just became part of the routine. I would come to visit for as long as I could, hold him, kiss him, put him back in his incubator, and say goodbye. I would hold his hand through the armhole and tell him I loved him, sometimes he would cry and my heart would break into a million pieces but I had to leave because it was a shift change, or I had a doctor's appointment to get to. Every day, I still think about it and I feel awful that I was able to walk away even though I didn't have a choice. I feel guilty that I became numb after awhile.
Though 49 days was more than long enough for me, Flynn came home when he would have been 35 weeks gestationally and that was sooner than we thought. Obviously, taking him home was one of the best days that we'd had in quite some time and was overall one of the greatest days of our lives. I felt guilty, however, that I wasn't able to plan an extravagant homecoming for him. We had important people at the house, of course, but because he wasn't allowed any visitors in the hospital, I wish I could have done something bigger for him. I didn't have a baby shower, so we had purchased what we could for him on our own, but I wish I could have done more. From the time he was born, I was in a constant state of wishing I could do more.
Being a new parent is difficult on its own. We had sleepless nights, endless feedings and diaper changes, and we were learning how to care for a newborn, just like everyone else; but every time Flynn cried, I cried. He wasn't supposed to have been born yet. Every whimper, tear, and scream was because I couldn't protect him. No matter how much I loved him, held him, and told him it would be okay, it didn't help. He needed what I couldn't do for him. I blamed myself because he wouldn't be in pain if he was still inside me where he should be. I've even gone as far as: I shouldn't have tried so long and so hard to get pregnant. As much as I wanted a baby, I didn't deserve him if I couldn't protect him.
The guilt hasn't lessened, but I can suppress it more and push it aside to do what I have to do. There are times like today, though, that I can't help it. We had to file some paperwork and for the first time, in writing, I saw the words: Flynn Reilly Mulligan has a disability. He has been disabled since his birthdate, February 19, 2017. Are there worse things that we could be going through? Of course. We are lucky, like I said, to be a family. We are fortunate to have each other. I will, however, always blame myself for causing my child to be at a disadvantage and to have caused him any pain or hardship. Seeing those words destroyed me. No one wants this for their child, but we will get through it together.
If I have learned anything, it's that my son is the strongest person I have ever met in my life. In spite of everything, he knows only happiness and I will forever be the proudest momma in the whole world. Maybe someday I won't blame myself, but I'm not quite there yet. It's possible that I'll always feel the guilt, but I'll realize that everything is okay - that we've overcome all that we have been thrown and it's all for a reason.
I thought it would be that simple: we had our son and I was happy. I was wrong.
I wasn't prepared for the never-ending guilt that I would experience. It started in the days before Flynn was born and I still have it to this day. Everything seems to come back to the guilt and the feeling that I failed as a mother before my son was even born. Though multiple medical professionals have told me that there was nothing that I could have done, that this was the best outcome and nothing was my fault, I will never believe them. Deep down, the feeling is unavoidable: my body failed my baby. I let this happen. I couldn't protect him.
The guilt intensified when I met my son for the first time. Instead of crying happy tears, I wept for the baby boy who struggled to breathe with countless tubes and wires attached to his small body. It was hard to make out his features with the amount of medical equipment on him. I was finally allowed to hold him and it was magical, but there was still this underlying sadness. His head fit in the palm of my hand and his body barely extended to my elbow when he stretched out. His hand barely wrapped around my index finger, and when he managed to cry, it came out as a squeak. He wouldn't open his eyes for quite some time and I wondered if he even knew who I was. After all, for his first days of life, we were kept apart. Did he know that I was his mom? I honestly doubted it. His amazing nurses were his caretakers and I felt that I left him behind. They were far better mothers to him than I had been. I couldn't be described as "amazing," I'd done nothing for him. Had I just done my job and protected him, he would be a healthy, bouncing, chubby baby boy. Instead we were here and though my son was perfect in my eyes, it was hard to see past the obvious tubes coming in and out of his body.
Every time I left the hospital, I felt guilty for leaving Flynn behind. More so, I carried guilt over the fact that I was able to leave. Was it difficult to walk out of those hospital doors day after day? Yes. But I was able to do it. I didn't always cry when I left, it just became part of the routine. I would come to visit for as long as I could, hold him, kiss him, put him back in his incubator, and say goodbye. I would hold his hand through the armhole and tell him I loved him, sometimes he would cry and my heart would break into a million pieces but I had to leave because it was a shift change, or I had a doctor's appointment to get to. Every day, I still think about it and I feel awful that I was able to walk away even though I didn't have a choice. I feel guilty that I became numb after awhile.
Though 49 days was more than long enough for me, Flynn came home when he would have been 35 weeks gestationally and that was sooner than we thought. Obviously, taking him home was one of the best days that we'd had in quite some time and was overall one of the greatest days of our lives. I felt guilty, however, that I wasn't able to plan an extravagant homecoming for him. We had important people at the house, of course, but because he wasn't allowed any visitors in the hospital, I wish I could have done something bigger for him. I didn't have a baby shower, so we had purchased what we could for him on our own, but I wish I could have done more. From the time he was born, I was in a constant state of wishing I could do more.
Being a new parent is difficult on its own. We had sleepless nights, endless feedings and diaper changes, and we were learning how to care for a newborn, just like everyone else; but every time Flynn cried, I cried. He wasn't supposed to have been born yet. Every whimper, tear, and scream was because I couldn't protect him. No matter how much I loved him, held him, and told him it would be okay, it didn't help. He needed what I couldn't do for him. I blamed myself because he wouldn't be in pain if he was still inside me where he should be. I've even gone as far as: I shouldn't have tried so long and so hard to get pregnant. As much as I wanted a baby, I didn't deserve him if I couldn't protect him.
The guilt hasn't lessened, but I can suppress it more and push it aside to do what I have to do. There are times like today, though, that I can't help it. We had to file some paperwork and for the first time, in writing, I saw the words: Flynn Reilly Mulligan has a disability. He has been disabled since his birthdate, February 19, 2017. Are there worse things that we could be going through? Of course. We are lucky, like I said, to be a family. We are fortunate to have each other. I will, however, always blame myself for causing my child to be at a disadvantage and to have caused him any pain or hardship. Seeing those words destroyed me. No one wants this for their child, but we will get through it together.
If I have learned anything, it's that my son is the strongest person I have ever met in my life. In spite of everything, he knows only happiness and I will forever be the proudest momma in the whole world. Maybe someday I won't blame myself, but I'm not quite there yet. It's possible that I'll always feel the guilt, but I'll realize that everything is okay - that we've overcome all that we have been thrown and it's all for a reason.
"I feared because it was too early, I cried because it was too soon. Yet I underestimated the strength in one as small as you."
Thank you for sharing your story. My son was born 27 weeks 3 days. I like to believe our strong little ones were just so excited to be here that they couldn't wait any longer. You are a strong, brave Mama! You are not alone xoxox
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for reading! I appreciate it:)
DeleteI like to believe the same thing! It helps me on my bad days.
Love to you and your little man 😘