Certain experiences stick with you forever. Losing my newborn daughter, Arielle, is one of them. It's been 25 years ago today, and yet it might be yesterday as clearly as it all comes back.
The prior 48 hours had been very stressful. I had gone to my obstetrician for my now weekly appointment. I was showing signs of pre-eclampsia (high blood pressure and protein in the urine) so he wanted to admit me to the hospital that night and induce labor in the morning. After notifying my supervisor at work, I packed my bag and was off.
They began the induction by breaking the amniotic sac. After twelve hours nothing much had happened so we chose to go ahead and have a c-section. They showed Arielle briefly to me before wheeling me into the recovery room. I remember the recovery room nurse asking if we had a name for the baby, and I didn't want to tell her what it was. We had worked really hard choosing a beautiful name, and I wasn't sure I wanted to commit it to this baby. I guess even then my heart was warning me that difficult waters were ahead.
Even though Arielle appeared healthy at first, she began showing signs of respiratory infection a few hours after birth. The decision was made to put her on intravenous antibiotics because she seemed to have similar symptoms of a male baby that had died a few weeks earlier from a Group B Strep infection. Even though Arielle had received antibiotics quickly, her health was deteriorating rapidly. They doctors wanted to ship her to a university hospital with a NICU that was equipped to give her white blood cells, which she needed to help fight the infection.
Arielle was taken to the University of Iowa Hospital in a specially equipped ambulance. While en route, they were able to get permission to have me taken to U of I Hospital as well. My nerves were wound tight waiting for word that Arielle had made it to Iowa City and was still alive.
My own health was touch and go for quite a while after arriving in Iowa City, although I was cognizant the whole time and was never worried for my health. I just know because they kept me in a Labor and Delivery Room for several hours, where the ratio of nurses to patient was 1:1. Sometime after daylight broke, Arielle's doctors brought me the painful news that her heart kept stopping and that, while they were still able to revive her, the time between incidents was decreasing. At some point they would not be able to revive her. My husband and I made one of the toughest decisions I have ever had to make: choosing to let her go.
I will never forget the hospital room. The door leading to the nursing station was on the wall to my right. In front of me were two doors, one to the room's bathroom and the other to a storage closet, with a round clock centered in between. The wall on my left contained a window from which sunlight poured in.
A doctor and a nurse, both female, both with tears in their eyes, brought Arielle to us the next time her heart stopped. I wanted to see her body one last time--count her fingers and toes, look at her dark, downy hair--so I unwrapped her from the blanket she was in. Even while I was holding her body and telling her how much I was going to miss her, I knew her spirit had already left her body. She knew there was no reason for her to continue to experience the pain her spent little body was still undergoing.
I knew exactly where her spirit was in the room. Even while I was looking at her perfect little body, I kept glancing up toward the ceiling and the wall clock. I kept thinking (and this was my mind's reasoning) that I wanted her to remember what I looked like so she would recognize me when at some point we were able to meet again.
I told her everything I needed to say. That I was sorry I wouldn't get to see her grow up. I regretted not having more time with her. After about half an hour, there was nothing left to say. It dawned on me the only reason she was there was because we needed her. Suddenly, it felt selfish to keep her there when she could be going on. I mentally made the decision to let her go. I looked over at my husband and asked him if he was ready to let her go. He thought about it for a moment and said, "Yes." In that very instant, Arielle's spirit left.
There have been times in the years since that I felt her presence. I haven't sought her out in years--I haven't really needed to. Some form of Arielle's energy has always managed to visit me when I really needed to know she was still okay. In the beginning, that happened a lot.
I believe the energies that are us reside in countless timelines, countless dimensions. The form I refer to as the higher self is the one most mediums pick up on when they come into contact with those loved ones we have lost. This is also the one that continues to live on in our hearts after their spirit has left their body.
Spirit is energy in its most basic form. We may not see it with our eyes, but we can sense when it is there. The challenge is to be aware of these presences in our everyday life. When we live through our hearts, the separation we call death is no longer separation. It becomes connection, and that enriches us all.
~CSE
The prior 48 hours had been very stressful. I had gone to my obstetrician for my now weekly appointment. I was showing signs of pre-eclampsia (high blood pressure and protein in the urine) so he wanted to admit me to the hospital that night and induce labor in the morning. After notifying my supervisor at work, I packed my bag and was off.
They began the induction by breaking the amniotic sac. After twelve hours nothing much had happened so we chose to go ahead and have a c-section. They showed Arielle briefly to me before wheeling me into the recovery room. I remember the recovery room nurse asking if we had a name for the baby, and I didn't want to tell her what it was. We had worked really hard choosing a beautiful name, and I wasn't sure I wanted to commit it to this baby. I guess even then my heart was warning me that difficult waters were ahead.
Even though Arielle appeared healthy at first, she began showing signs of respiratory infection a few hours after birth. The decision was made to put her on intravenous antibiotics because she seemed to have similar symptoms of a male baby that had died a few weeks earlier from a Group B Strep infection. Even though Arielle had received antibiotics quickly, her health was deteriorating rapidly. They doctors wanted to ship her to a university hospital with a NICU that was equipped to give her white blood cells, which she needed to help fight the infection.
Arielle was taken to the University of Iowa Hospital in a specially equipped ambulance. While en route, they were able to get permission to have me taken to U of I Hospital as well. My nerves were wound tight waiting for word that Arielle had made it to Iowa City and was still alive.
My own health was touch and go for quite a while after arriving in Iowa City, although I was cognizant the whole time and was never worried for my health. I just know because they kept me in a Labor and Delivery Room for several hours, where the ratio of nurses to patient was 1:1. Sometime after daylight broke, Arielle's doctors brought me the painful news that her heart kept stopping and that, while they were still able to revive her, the time between incidents was decreasing. At some point they would not be able to revive her. My husband and I made one of the toughest decisions I have ever had to make: choosing to let her go.
I will never forget the hospital room. The door leading to the nursing station was on the wall to my right. In front of me were two doors, one to the room's bathroom and the other to a storage closet, with a round clock centered in between. The wall on my left contained a window from which sunlight poured in.
A doctor and a nurse, both female, both with tears in their eyes, brought Arielle to us the next time her heart stopped. I wanted to see her body one last time--count her fingers and toes, look at her dark, downy hair--so I unwrapped her from the blanket she was in. Even while I was holding her body and telling her how much I was going to miss her, I knew her spirit had already left her body. She knew there was no reason for her to continue to experience the pain her spent little body was still undergoing.
I knew exactly where her spirit was in the room. Even while I was looking at her perfect little body, I kept glancing up toward the ceiling and the wall clock. I kept thinking (and this was my mind's reasoning) that I wanted her to remember what I looked like so she would recognize me when at some point we were able to meet again.
I told her everything I needed to say. That I was sorry I wouldn't get to see her grow up. I regretted not having more time with her. After about half an hour, there was nothing left to say. It dawned on me the only reason she was there was because we needed her. Suddenly, it felt selfish to keep her there when she could be going on. I mentally made the decision to let her go. I looked over at my husband and asked him if he was ready to let her go. He thought about it for a moment and said, "Yes." In that very instant, Arielle's spirit left.
There have been times in the years since that I felt her presence. I haven't sought her out in years--I haven't really needed to. Some form of Arielle's energy has always managed to visit me when I really needed to know she was still okay. In the beginning, that happened a lot.
I believe the energies that are us reside in countless timelines, countless dimensions. The form I refer to as the higher self is the one most mediums pick up on when they come into contact with those loved ones we have lost. This is also the one that continues to live on in our hearts after their spirit has left their body.
Spirit is energy in its most basic form. We may not see it with our eyes, but we can sense when it is there. The challenge is to be aware of these presences in our everyday life. When we live through our hearts, the separation we call death is no longer separation. It becomes connection, and that enriches us all.
~CSE
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