sierras for the past 14 years. I was drawn out to the area on a whim
and a friend. Made some money, lots of fun friends and met my husband
to be. Once as I was leaving Reno my father died and a friend I would
not have thought to call was the one to be my strong shoulder when I
needed it late at night.
On July 3, 1999 I talked a young dreadlocked beautiful boy into giving
me a ride to a music festival. Four months later I married him in his
parents' home in Sparks outside Reno. I knew he was the right fellow
as he took me on wildflower walks in the mountains and charmed the
foodie in me with 'good gig soup' and 'carob treats.'
He and I visited family and friends in Reno at last once every year.
We healed from hard work and sometimes made difficult decisions as we
walked in the desert behind his parents' home. I attended two
weddings and two births in Reno enlarging my family and support
network to include my brothers and sisters in laws and my niece and
nephew.
And of course most recently was the fateful trip where I bore my twin
daughters so early, too early in their sweet lives. At that point the
trip in Reno just became even more intense. From day to day I healed
my physical wounds of birthing while we rode an emotional roller
coaster watching our little Zaria's life unfold. I was confused by
greetings of solace for the loss of little Abigail followed by
congratulations for the birth of my daughter Zaria.
From the early 'honeymoon' week Zaria introduced us, including the
staff at the NICU, to what a strong little fighter she was. She faced
chronic lung disease, grade 3 brain bleeds, and heart surgery within
the first few weeks of her stay. Every time she met these obstacles
we were all surprised because she didn't want to show us any signs of
her distress.
As she healed from each trauma we breathed a collective sigh of
relief. We spent hours and hours at her bedside peering into a
plastic womb and getting to know our littlest daughter. When possible
we held her head and feet as she spread out her toes and caressed our
fingertips as we sought to soothe her and her us.
Finally we met the scariest and biggest challenge, the life
threatening gut disease NEC. She didn't show a sign as most babies do
but eventually a bloody diaper and failing body signals finally sent
her back to the O.R. to have a little over half of her gut removed.
We waited and loved her for just a very few days before more signs of
NEC were detected. This was only showing on a lung and gut xray (she
had now gotten over chronic lung disease) as she showed no signs of
deterioration and was revisiting the characteristics we saw in that
original 'honeymoon phase'.
After holding such strong hope for our girl through all the 'you must
give up care'-s for her from the doctors, we could not allow our minds
to fathom that she had more of the disease. The surgeon finally
realized that it was futile to convince us as we saw the glimmer of
hope in her words of "most likely will not live". 'Most likely' can't
convince two loving parents that want with all their hearts for their
daughter to survive the NICU and come home with them. The doctor
realized she would have to show us proof.
After an exploratory bedside surgery and a photograph of the
perforated gut and decaying tissue we finally begin to swallow our
hope for saving our daughter.
Still she showed great health in her micropreemie way. We were given
free reign of holding her and spending hours of 'kangaroo car' or skin
to skin loving. Yesterday we starting noticing the signs of health
deterioration and watched as she began to wince more in pain. We
spent one last night holding, singing, loving, cherishing and getting
to know our daughter.
On Sunday morning on August 8 we realized we should let go (i couldn't
use the term 'withdraw care' because what mother can really withdraw
care of their child?)
Luke and I stood by her bedside singing lullabies and caressing and
reassuring our daughter of what was to happen, how she would be
released from the pain of her body and would always be loved by her
family. We told her how countless people who had not even met her
loved her and supported her journey. The nurse removed the tape
holding on her breathing tube and Zaria quickly yanked it out of her
mouth.
Finally! She had been trying to do that for a few days. I held her
warm body to my bare chest and soothed her fears. She lay in Luke's
lap at sunrise by the window; and as her heart faintly beat she
lightened our loads as she flew away home. We studied her beautiful
face (looking much like her brother's), stoked her reddish brown hair
and held her little fingers.
How do we get through the countless moments of sadness, desire,
uncertainty, and loss...one moment at a time.
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