The dreaded talk. The one that begins with, “There’s nothing more we can do."
I remember actually pinching myself to make sure this was real life.
It was.
This doctor, this man, this human being none the less, had to sit down in front of my husband and I (with tears in his eyes) and tell us, “I’m so sorry but I’ve tried so many different things, but there’s nothing more I can do for Julian.”
He told us we have options; he can keep working on Julian, trying different things. He told us he will take tubes out, replace them, angle them differently, so forth. But every time this was done, his sedation would need to be turned up because of the pain it was causing our baby boy.
By this point his oxygen levels were in the 50s. No turning back. Damage was 100% confirmed without even having to do an ultrasound. You just don’t come out of this.
In my heart I didn’t want him to suffer anymore. The thought of poking and prodding him, on top of knowing the amount of pain it caused weighed so heavy over my head. I couldn’t do this to him any longer. But of course, this isn’t a decision that I can just make alone. Julian was half of mine, and he’s half of my husbands, which means we’re in the decision making together.
“I can try one more thing”, our doctor exclaimed. “I think I may get Julian to hold out a little longer, but sadly I believe the end result will still be the same.”
My mind was made up, why make my baby suffer anymore than he already is? Why continue to poke at him, forming new holes into his tiny, beautiful body?
The doctor left us alone to talk.
Talk about making the biggest decision of your entire friggen life. Talk about weight falling on your shoulders. Talk about whether this decision you both decide to make will hang over your heads for the rest of your life.
Talk about whether this decision will make or break you as a couple.
Sitting there alone in that room, in that silence, faced with the choice as to whether to “unhook” your child from the ventilator was surreal. My mind was going a mile a minute. I kept asking myself if this was really happening. If this was really what we were being faced with this. It’s like you don’t even believe it.
Or, you just don’t want to.
My husband, without hesitation, told me he wanted the doctor to try again. He wanted him to do what he thought he could, even if it meant the same end result.
Oh no. We aren’t on the same page. I don’t want my baby to suffer anymore. I don't want him to be poked again and again. How do I tell my husband that?
You don’t. I didn’t.
Why?
Because I would never in a million years want my husband to resent me for not trying this “one more” procedure. Because I wanted my husband to be confident in the decision he made about his son. Because I wanted my husband to know that we tried and not regret the “what if’s” if we didn’t.
And I must say, deep down inside,
that’s what I wanted too.
