I knew things were bad, but I didn't want to believe it. At some point in the evening, the nurse practitioner came in and and sat with us. I could see it on her face. The news wasn't going to be good. Too be honest, I don't even remember all that was said. She started off by saying that things had changed and Brooklyn had taken a turn for the worse. They were disappointed since she had been doing so well. They suspected an infection had caused her to go down hill so rapidly. She looked right at me and said, "I'm sorry to tell you that we probably won't be able to bring her out of this. We don't think she's going to get better." I burst into tears, starting shaking my head and said, "NO! DON'T SAY THAT!" She said she was sorry. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I couldn't speak. It was like a nightmare and I wasn't waking up at this point. The nurse kept talking, but I don't remember anything that was said. I remember Lynnette asked some questions, but I couldn't speak. I just stared at Brooklyn, crying hysterically.
I ran out of the room. I was angry. I was VERY angry. Before this talk I had NEVER even considered that she wasn't going to make it. How could this be happening to us? She was doing fine. She was making very slow progress, but steady was fine with me. Now it had all changed and I was mad. I had been in denial about her status when we arrived back and now I was forced to listen to them tell me she wasn't going to make it. I felt trapped as I made my way through the CVICU. I had no where to go. But I knew I couldn't sit in there and listen to that lady tell me my daughter was going to die. I didn't know where to go. I turned the corner into the hallway and there were people in the little waiting area.... I couldn't breathe I was so upset. I just needed to be alone and there were people all over the place. I made my way down the hallway and found the chapel at the end of the hall. As soon as the door closed behind me I broke down. I was screaming. I was crying. I was wailing. Why? Why? WHY? Why God? Why us? Why Brooklyn? This wasn't supposed to be happening. She was supposed to go home with us. She was supposed to grow up with her twin sister Aubrey. We were supposed to watch her grow up. We were supposed to be the parents of twin girls. Now it wasn't going to happen. She was going to become an angel in just a matter of time. I needed Andy. I needed him there with me in that moment. But his damn work made him go back. I sat in the chapel and just cried. I prayed to God for the first time in a very long time. I'm not sure it was a prayer... there was a lot of screaming and yelling. But, I know God was listening. After telling Him all about Brooklyn and why she had to pull through and what she meant to me, suddenly I felt a calm come over my body. I could breathe again. I knew then that God didn't care if I hadn't been to church in years or that I hadn't asked for help before that moment. All that mattered was that I reached out to Him. After much silence and thought, I knew that everything was going to be okay. Brooklyn was so sick and her little body couldn't fight any more. She tried so hard to make it and I knew that. She fought hard for six and a half weeks to be with us. Every moment was precious with her. I appreciated that she was apart of my life and I had the chance to know her.
I remember Lynnette finding me in the chapel and just sitting with me while I cried. She cried too. I knew it was just as hard on her and I truly appreciated her being there with me in that moment. I can't even tell you what happened next or the order of things. It is all a blur. I remember calling Andy on his cell phone and he didn't answer. How could he not answer? I realized he was probably in with Aubrey in the NICU and couldn't have his phone on. I called the NICU and asked for Aubrey's nurse. I asked if Andy was there, through my tears. They got him on the phone. I was hysterical. I told him that Brooklyn wasn't going to make it. She was really sick and I needed him to come up right now. He said okay, that he was on his way.
I remember sitting with Brooklyn and just holding her hand and talking to her. I told her she needed a miracle and she needed to make more urine and fight as hard as she could. To be honest, I was hoping for a miracle. They happen, and I thought it would happen for us. I kept watching her tubes for fluid output. There was some, but not enough. She continued to be negative (less output than the fluid amounts they were giving her). This was not the answer I was looking for! We called the Chaplin and she prayed for Brooklyn and we made arrangements for the regular Chaplin to come baptise Brooklyn.
At some point Andy arrived and we just cried together at Brooklyn's bedside. We stayed with her for hours. We made our way to the parent lounge after midnight and slept on the very uncomfortable pull out chairs. I had to continue to pump every 2-3 hours, so I was up again and again. Each time I'd go in and check on Brooklyn. She was the same... not enough fluid output. I was exhausted mentally and emotionally.
We were up early to sit with her. There had been no change. The doctors made their rounds while we were sitting there. "The outcome looks grim" is pretty much what was said as we sat there. Tears ran down my face. One of the doctors said she'd be back to talk to us. She came back and said that they had tried everything and that they couldn't bring her back. She was just going to continue to swell and become even more disfigured. I was still praying for a miracle. Her kidneys were in complete failure and she wasn't a candidate for dialysis. I was grasping at straws. Anything to make her better.
Somehow both sets of grandparents were called to come say goodbye. They would be arriving later in the afternoon. They wanted to move us to a private room. They said that meant they would have to change her from the oscillator to a regular ventilator and they didn't know how long she would make it with the change. I told them they couldn't move her until she was baptized. Our regular Chaplin came up later in the morning and Brooklyn was changed into a beautiful white dress (probably a doll dress since it was so small). The Chaplin led a beautiful service and Brooklyn was baptized right there in her regular bed. After that, the nurses were in a hurry to move her. I wasn't ready for the change. I wasn't sure how long she'd survive on the other ventilator, and I wasn't ready to say goodbye yet. I hadn't even had a chance to hold her in over 28 days. The little girl next to us was coming back from surgery and that meant we'd have to leave while they got her set up and stabilized. I wasn't leaving Brooklyn, and they knew that. They finally convinced me to move to the private room. We'd have too many people there at her bedside, and I could hold her if we moved her. That's what changed my mind. I couldn't wait to cuddle my little girl.
There was lot of hustle and the nurses and doctors got her set up for the move. They had to put her on portable machines and take her off the vent for the short trip down the hall. They had to "bag" her during the move. I was scared to death that she wasn't going to make it and I wouldn't get to say a proper goodbye. I looked on and worried what was going to happen.
No comments:
Post a Comment