… a little of what other people were thinking as Amy Lynne was in the hospital dying. I’ve been reading this blog (which is why I said ‘a little’) of a woman who had a daughter born to a heart defect. This baby is now 11 months old. She went in for a heart transplant and the heart that was given to her was bad. Obviously they didn’t know this at the time, but things aren’t looking too good.
As a parent, you want your children to live. You expect that you will bury your parent’s, not your children. You will do everything in your power to keep your child alive. This family is no different. I feel absolutely helpless. Of course there is nothing that I can do, I don’t even know them, but the emotion is still there. The helplessness is there.
However, there comes a time when you just know. They kept pushing me to sign a DNR. To me, that felt like I was playing God. How did I know when the right time was? What if I signed it and she was going to fight? What if, what if, what if?? I had to know deep down that I had done everything I could. I never want to look my Heavenly Father in the eye and say, well, the doctors wanted me to, so I did.
Sunday evening, I was holding her. When you have a child sick in Children’s, they are the sickest of the sick. Which is why the staff encourage you to hold your child, even if they are on a vent. Amy Lynne was on the vent at that time. She was awake. I knew she was awake because she couldn’t stop gagging at the tube down her throat. That was the first time that I begged. I begged that the nurse would drug her. I couldn’t stand the pain she was in. Tears were streaming down her face from gagging so hard. I was crying. And I just knew. I knew I couldn’t handle watching her gag on the tube anymore. I knew that she was in pain and she was staying on this earth for me. For her dad. For her Grandmother. For her family. And all I could think to myself was, how selfish is this? It was that night that I knew she was going to return to our Heavenly Father very soon. I talked to her that night. As the drugs were pushed into her system and she went to sleep, free of the gagging, I told her that I knew why she was still here and it was OK to go home. That as much as I would miss her and feel so cheated, I would be OK.
She died that Thursday. She had received a priesthood blessing the night before. Her mission on this earth had been accomplished. She was to receive a body. I got to hold an angel. A real angel. She blessed us with 10 weeks and 5 days. As much as it has been hard for us, we are OK.
And now I know the helplessness that others felt as we were going through this trial. Not knowing what to say, what to do. You look on, like looking at a car crash that you know is going to happen and not able to do a thing about it, and unless you know people well enough to step in and say, “I’m taking your kids and bringing you dinner in and you have no say in the matter” most people don’t know to do that. To say that. Are afraid to mention or to talk about the child that you lost.
And I feel like I’m finally on that flip side. Checking her blog multiple times a day. Wondering if she is still alive. When will they post that she has passed? That they had to have the “talk” with their children, telling them that their sister wouldn’t be coming home from the hospital?
I feel so helpless and there is nothing that I can do but watch.