SIDS and Grace

Every mother's fear. I woke up at 4 am and found my 8 month old daughter Grace blue tinged and not breathing. She was in her little crib, arm's reach from my bedside with no rails to separate us. How could she slip so silently away with me right by her side?
I heard a dreadful noise and realized it was my own screaming. I shouted at my husband, "Colin No!" and looked down at my lifeless little one as I shook her roughly side to side, trying to rouse her from the deepest sleep of all.
It was an eternity that I stared down at her thinking, "I know infant CPR. How do I do it? I've forgotten. THINK Mama, THINK!"
I suddenly remembered and as my husband fumbled with the light switch I began giving our little Grace rescue breaths. After three breaths Grace inhaled a weak little breath of her own and I scooped her up out of her crib and bounced her roughly in my arms "Wake up! Wake up!"
I blew hard in her face from a few inches away to stimulate her to take a deep breath. It worked. She gave a deep breath and her eyelids fluttered and her eyes rolled back and away and her eyes shut again. I blew harder several more times and finally little Gracie opened her eyes and looked at me.
No crying came from her mouth. This, my fourth baby, my colicky baby, the baby that never stopped screaming was completely silent. I held my breath, thoughts of brain damage swirling miserably in my mind. Grace reached one little hand up and placed it on my cheek and I burst into tears.
"Thank you Lord, thank you for giving us our Gracie back"
My husband stared silently on and looked anguished. Eventually he went back to sleep but I sat and rocked Grace in my arms until the sun came up and we could make our way to the children's hospital. I watched her every second and jostled her the second she seemed too still. I spent much of that time in tears, though I composed myself when the other children began waking. They were all suffering from a flu to include tummy troubles and upper respiratory complaints and I had been expecting little Grace to catch it too, though she never showed any signs of fever. Now in my arms she was warm and felt normal, well, healthy.

Why did she nearly die?

I'm not a silent person, usually. I like to talk with grown-ups when I actually have a chance and I probably drive my husband up a wall with chatter when he and I are able to have some time together. I spent the entire day in absolute silence because the inside of me was screaming louder than I could control. I couldn't think around the noise in my head; I felt foggy and utterly undeserving.

Why did Grace not die?

You might wonder how it came to be that I was checking on Grace at 4 am. Was it perhaps a normal feeding time and I woke up on my own? Nope.

My husband woke up, actually. For the first time since I've known Colin he had a bad dream. In fact, I've never known him to remember a dream. He says he hasn't remembered dreaming since he was a little boy. But a little before 4 am Colin leapt out of bed, shouting.

What he said is permanently etched in my memory. "Baby, NO!" he shouted and ran around his side of the bed to mine and he looked bewildered down at the floor. There was nothing there but folded piles of clothes and blankets and he looked up at me (I was sitting up in bed). He looked sleepy and perplexed.
"Honey, are you alright?" I asked.
"I thought Grace had fallen to the floor. I guess I dreamed that she was falling. I saw her slipping down." and he walked back to his side of bed and climbed under the blankets.

It was January and chilly. I rolled toward my husband and rubbed his head, running my fingers through his hair and trying to relax him. His dream had clearly shaken him and he had work so early the next morning. He closed his eyes and I looked at the clock. 4 am.

I rolled to face Grace and looked at her, sound asleep and peaceful. She was rolled away from me, laying on her side. She was close to the far mesh wall of her co-sleeper so I reached out and pulled her back to the center. Her little body flopped onto her back. She just flopped, so limp. I ripped her blanket from her and put my palm on her chest and shook her to rouse her. She was unresponsive and completely devoid of muscle tone. She was completely and utterly limp and lifeless. I felt the sharp twist of fear in my stomach and the dread rise up and choke me.

She just felt so wrong. I'm not sure how else to explain it. I sat up fully and looked down at her by the glow of the night-light. She felt warm. That means it hasn't been long. She could be ok. Is she sound asleep? I pressed my ear to her nose and mouth to feel for breath while I watched her chest. I saw no rise and fall to reassure me. I felt no warm little breath against my cheek and ear. I looked down at her and heard myself scream to my husband. "Colin, NO!" The sound of my voice was awful. I've never sounded like that before. It was the sound of absolute horror. A sound that cannot be reproduced under normal circumstances.

The memory of the whole event brings goosebumps to my arms and tears to my eyes. They were the worst moments of my entire life.

The rest of that day I felt such a bizarre mix of emotions. I felt extreme guilt. Grace was always screaming, always seeming to be in pain. She spit up everything and refused to eat solid foods. She was barely rolling over and not meeting her milestones in the way all my other babies had. The pediatrician had told me that at 9 months she'd need to see specialists because of her lack of development.

Part of me was always a bit angry with Grace. I couldn't help it. She never stopped screaming. My arms and back ached all the time from carrying her around, constantly bouncing her, trying to calm her. She would not nurse without tugging, pulling and screaming and had caused me significant pain. I had finally given up and gone from supplementing with formula (more than half her daily food) to fully feeding formula for about a month at this point, and everything had just gotten noticeably worse.

I know it wasn't baby Grace's fault that she was so much stress and work for the family. My husband and I were often tense at home because of the crying. I was struggling to educate the children and chase after my troublesome two year old while dealing with Grace. I was still recovering from my traumatic delivery of Grace, complete with a pulmonary embolism, failed natural labor and complicated C-section, multiple blood transfusions and small stroke.

I couldn't help but feel angry. And now I felt such extreme remorse for having those feelings. Little Grace nearly slipped away to forever be in God's arms and I felt the sting of having been angry with her while she was here with us.

How did she slip away right next to me? Was I too sleepy to wake up when she was choking, maybe? She was not sleeping through the night at that point, but hadn't woken that night. I should have known something was wrong. I'm her mother, it is my job to protect her and she was dying right next to my bed.

I felt overwhelmed with feelings of gratitude and awe. How did my husband wake up with a nightmare in time to save Grace? I am so undeserving to have my little girl still. I am so unworthy of this miracle. I am so thankful. So thankful.

Grace was given a clean bill of health from the cardiologists. It was a relief to see her healthy little heart on the screens and to be told she was as good as gold. The cardiologist said it was very likely due to acid reflux, that reflux causes SIDS regularly, a fact I was ignorant to.

The team of pediatricians that hooked Grace up to monitors and wires and checked her over in her little hospital crib all said the same thing. Reflux. Acid reflux was responsible. To be more accurate commercial baby formula was responsible.

Baby formula nearly killed my daughter.

At this point we underwent an incredible journey, learning all about food manufacturing, company ownership, where our produce comes from, the pesticides sprayed on our food, the additives in all our food and the hormones in our dairy.

What we learned scared the living daylights out of me. We didn't feed our children a highly processed diet. I was a healthy person and was always fighting my husband's bad eating habits. I was raised by very healthy people and my husband was not. I was always frowning on breakfast cereal and pushing oatmeal. I preferred the kids eat tuna sandwiches to Lunchables and milk to fruit juice. And forget juice-drinks and snack cakes and candy. My in-laws were often sending those things to us with Grandpa's visits and slipping the toddler soda.

But if you'd asked me if my children ate a ton of corn, soy and MSG I would have given a solid "no" answer. I would have been very wrong, though. My children (& myself and husband) were consuming loads of glutamate (the neuro-toxic part of monosodium glutamate) and controversial genetically modified products like soy and corn. They were eating loads of Monsanto's Roundup pesticides among other horrible chemicals. Their food was drastically altered in manufacturing processes.

Their diet was poisoning them and I was to blame. I was responsible for nourishing their growing bodies and I had failed miserably.
My failure caused us months of misery with Grace, years of misery with the older children and most importantly it almost cost us the ultimate payment: the precious life of a child.

I know it was the food. I can prove it was the food. And infant formula was one of the most toxic, disgusting substances I ever fed a child and worse still it was fed to a tiny, defenseless infant.

Our world is upside-down and we're starting fresh. We're starting from scratch. We're learning a whole new way of life and I wanted to share these things in hopes that other families can avoid the trouble and heartache we've endured along the way.

I hope I am able to post often and they are helpful to you.

-Annette

The Christmas Spirit

Today I was talking to my daughters about writing a Christmas Wish list for the family as well as Santa to see. My oldest daughter, now 8, said that she would be happy with anything that Santa gives her. She said that she would be "Thankful even if I get coal because we can use that to burn and keep warm and it is nice of Santa to come all the way here to bring it to me."
That made my heart glow!! First I am thankful to God that my daughter has such a thankful and appreciative spirit and second I am thankful to God that my daughter shows wisdom and practicality in recognizing the usefulness of coal as opposed to the mere pleasure of a toy!

I hope that my sweet daughters will continue to grow to be appreciative thankful and practical children. I also hope that they are not swallowed up by the commercialism of the Christmas season and forget the true meaning of the Christmas celebration. We are to be honoring the Lord and thankful for the birth of Jesus in the humble stable trough so long ago.

Holding my own tiny son this year, so close to Christmas, I wonder at the sacrifice God made for us. I know that I would not be able to make that sacrifice. As I look into my little boy's sweet innocent face, the face that looks to me for all his needs, I know that I could never harm him, even if it was to save all of humanity. The sacrifice God made of his own only son to save all of us is truly the most tremendous sacrifice I can imagine. As a parent I can feel more keenly the pain the Lord endured to save us.

For that I am deeply grateful.

A First Thanksgiving... of sorts

The first year I lived with my husband, sadly far from my family, but near his, I learned of his family traditions. His mother is not the domestic sort, despite having been a stay-at-home mother for all her life. His family doesn't make dinner, they make reservations!!
I was home-sick enough but the thought of celebrating Thanksgiving in a restaurant was appalling!!
Growing up Thanksgiving had always been my very favorite holiday. No one argued or got upset, there was never any dramatic happening, but everyone was cheerfully busy preparing for the grand feast. Yes, a celebration of excess, I suppose I could pray about whether it is wasteful or wrong to feast this way, but I would like to imagine the Lord enjoys seeing us happy and thankful, fellowshipping over a meal together and ruminating on what ways we are truly blessed by God.
Besides, my family was always certain that not one scrap of food went to waste! Mmmm... my mouth is watering just thinking about the cold turkey sandwiches we had for about 10 days following the feast!
My mother always woke very early and by the time I woke and came downstairs the house was already warm and filled with the smell of the roasting turkey. Music might be playing on the old record player and my mother would be in the kitchen, apron around her teeny waist, peeling or dicing or stirring something fragrant.
We were allowed a light breakfast, if we had anything at all. My sister and I got to work in the kitchen right away. My sister did not care much for cooking, or other domestic tasks actually although she is quite a talented and accomplished cook.
Nevertheless she would be found in the kitchen with us, smiling and working together.
My home was not much for professional sports. My parents watched the "Army vs Navy" football game each year, and occasionally the Superbowl, but our home was not polluted with the noise of a football game during Thanksgiving, that is until my little brother was a bit older.
My Aunt made it over eventually, always much later than she had promised. She would help in the kitchen as well and often sing songs or chatter pleasantly with us. The small kitchen was always pleasantly crowded as our early dinner time approached.
When the food was laid out on the table, delightful and delectable traditional dishes-all made fresh from scratch-we would sit and for likely the first time of the year we would pray together as a family. I enjoyed hearing my father pray. As a child, and in fact as an adult, I enjoy hearing my father talk. He is mostly a quiet man, and he worked very hard so he was often tired and did not speak much. When he did he always had something wise to say. When my father talked it was prudent to pay attention, for you would always learn something important.
After the prayer was complete we went around the table, starting with my mother after my father and we each said what we were thankful for. I looked forward to this every year and often planned ahead what I would say when all eyes and ears were on me.
It was only a sentence or two but I would eagerly prepare the sentences on colored scraps of notebook paper and would scratch out line after line when it just wasn't quite right. I had to be sure I mentioned everyone!
Then, we eat! My mother's food was mana from Heaven!! After dinner we often took a walk as a family, something we rarely did but I always enjoyed thoroughly. The air in Southern California was often just perfect around Thanksgiving. Cool and crisp and perfect for strolling in. When we were little we would walk around to the playground and we would be allowed to play for a short while as my father puffed on a large fragrant cigar or a funny-looking pipe (funny to me anyhow). I always enjoyed the smell of the spicy tobacco on the clean and fresh air.
After the walk there would often be some family-friendly movie on tv and we would all gather together and digest while watching. Then there were the pies. Fresh apple, pumpkin, and a few years we made mince-meat for my father (yuck!). There was always freshly whipped cream and ice cream too! And long pleasant family conversations. The adults often drank wine and we children were allowed to stay up late! My older brother Adam would come to visit and often stay up all night with us playing video games (we watched him).
I cherish these memories.

When I moved in with my husband I would just not hear of having a Thanksgiving away from my warm family out in a restaurant!! At the time his mother was less than pleased that he was in love with a divorcee with two small children, and was even angrier that I was not a Catholic. We invited them to our small townhouse for Thanksgiving dinner and they accepted so I felt tremendous pressure to do a very good job and impress my Mother-in-law.

The morning of that fateful first Thanksgiving I was attempting to remove the neck from inside the turkey. It was wedged in-between pelvic bones and would not break free. After much sweating and perhaps some cursing I enlisted the help of my husband. He is a tall and broad man, he reminds me of what a lumberjack would look like in the early years of our country, or the pictures in black and white you sometimes see of butchers. Big strong men capable of cleaving meat and bone and sinew and hoisting the food up and down on hooks.
My husband could not really fit his hand into the opening of the turkey, as he has considerably large hands. He shrugged and put a hand on either side of the turkey's cavity and wrenched the turkey apart. I stood there with my hands clapped over my mouth. I knew what he was about to do before I heard the cracking and snapping of many turkey bones. My husband had broken every single rib in the turkey's body and had snapped the turkey's back as well. The cavity was considerably more flexible now and he was able to reach his hand in and yank free the neck. He pulled it out and showed it to me with a big smile on his face.
I looked first to his beaming face and then to the now-pathetic turkey, sagging in on itself as if it had been crushed by a tremendous weight, then I looked back to his face. I burst out laughing. I laughed long and hard, enough that tears rolled down my cheeks. I tried to right the turkey but it flopped limply back in on itself which caused me to erupt in fresh gales of laughter. My husband shrugged and smiled sheepishly as he proffered the turkey neck. "Well, I got it out." He said.
Right then I was so thankful for my strong and helpful husband. I very much admire his determination. When he is set to a task he gets it done! Perhaps he won't be destroying any poultry again in our lives, I think he learned his lesson, but by golly he got that neck out for me!! If I ask him for something he comes through! And he knew how much this Thanksgiving meant to me.
I was very thankful for that relief. I felt the tension lift and the stress melt away. Sure, I could have been distraught over the "destroyed" turkey, but why? Truly, it was a pathetic looking turkey now, but it would taste good nonetheless. My husband used wooden cake baking dowels to prop the turkey up from the inside and it roasted just fine.
My extensive and careful planning paid off and dinner was perfect and ready on time. His family came and while the meal was very tense and rushed it was the first of many wonderful family Thanksgivings!

This memory never fails to make me smile. And it was a valuable lesson for me as well. I learned that day to be very careful what I asked my very strong husband to do for me. God blessed him with more strength than he knows quite what to do with!!

Happy Thanksgiving!!

Blood, Sweat, and Tears

My husband has just been itching to build our girls a "playhouse" or "clubhouse" in our yard ever since we bought this house! So, finally, he decided just to go ahead and do it. A few trips to the local home improvement store, many sheets of plywood later, and a call to his best friend and a tiny house was being framed out in my yard!!
My husband has this "go big or go home" mentality, I must admit. Everything this man does must be HUGE!!
That reminds me of our very first Christmas together. We were living in this tiny townhouse apartment and we went to get our first tree. He chose a beautiful tree. A magnificent example of winter beauty. "But sweetheart," I asked him, "Isn't this tree a bit big?"
"No no, its fine" he assured me.
Now, I'm really horrible when it comes to spatial relations, I can never tell what size box to pack a gift in, or how much luggage will fit in a trunk... but I really thought that our lovely tree was a bit tall...
We drove home and my wonderful husband hauled our prize into the house... and... well, the tree was several FEET too large!!!
He ended up on our back step sawing a lot of the trunk off, and the tree did manage to fit in the house, if the tippy top was bent just a wee bit... and boy did it take up most of the room!!
It was all worth it though, to look at my husband's face, which was beaming with joy!!

Well, I digress.
My husband always goes BIG. I could go on and on with examples!
This little playhouse has ended up being quite the sizable playhouse! It isn't quite finished yet, but it is mostly done. I told my six-year old daughter this Saturday morning, "Go and play in that playhouse that your Daddy built with his blood, sweat, and tears". She smiled and hopped off (she is always hopping or trotting or galloping... like a little critter). She ran right up to her eight year old sister and said "Come On!! Mommy says we have to go play in the playhouse that Daddy built with Blood dripping out of his ears!"
I was laughing so hard I could barely catch up with the two of them to correct the misunderstanding.
Ever play the game "telephone" as a kid?
Thank you, Dear God, for my beautiful children!! AMEN!