When I was 19, I gave birth to the most beautiful baby girl. My then-husband and I were very irresponsible. When she was 4½ months old, I got pregnant again. We knew that we could barely afford our daughter. So many options went through my mind. I thought about abortion for a second then instantly wiped it away. I could never kill an innocent child. My mom offered to raise the baby but I didn’t want to put the burden on her; this was my responsibility. Then I thought about adoption and even called an agency and went for a preliminary interview. But I felt the baby move…I couldn’t give my baby away. So I went through 9 months of pure joy to only have it end feeling totally devastated and blaming myself. Here’s my story of my first born son, Bradlee, his birth and his loss.
It was a cool. crisp October night in 1994 when I took the trip to the hospital. Being 2 days shy of 40 weeks pregnant, I wasn’t worried about birth. I had done it before, a mere 14 months earlier, so I was a veteran. I was put under observation for an hour then admitted at midnight because labor had “officially” begun. The night went by pretty slowly but not because of the pain of labor. It was in anticipation of seeing and holding my first born son.
My water hadn’t yet broke so the midwife kept coming in to check my progress. When dilation had reached 8cm, she decided that it was time to break my water. I really started to get excited…I knew it wouldn’t be long. Mom came to the hospital around 5am to coach me through labor because Bradlee’s dad decided that he was going to “celebrate” the pending birth of his son instead of being with me. She was awesome! When the contractions started to get unbearable, she would talk me through them and occasionally rub my arm to relax me.
Around 7:45 the midwife checked me and said I was completely dilated and it was time to evict Bradlee from my womb. Woo Hoo! I was finally going to hold my son! At exactly 8 o’clock in the morning on Sunday, October 9, 1994, he was born. And so healthy! He weighed 7pounds and 12 ounces and he measured 20 inches long. His color was a rosy pink and he had such powerful lungs! He was funny too. When the nurse took him to the warmer for his first examination, he held his foot in the air, just like Sissy did when she was born. The major difference is she propped her foot on the side of the bed while he just held his up. And he peed on the nurse! Oh my goodness! When I think about it, him doing that isn’t very funny but her reaction was very funny!
What a beautiful baby Bradlee was. After a few days he started losing some hair, as some babies do, but the hair he did have on his soft spot was a beautiful chestnut brown. And his eyes…you’d just have to look at his picture and see that they were simply mesmerizing. And he was so good. He rarely cried, even when he had a dirty diaper he would sit content. That’s why when he became sick, kept crying and I was unable to console him I was concerned.
When Bradlee was a day shy of being 2 months old, my mom and I took him and his sister for pictures and to see Santa. After returning home, Bradlee started throwing up. At first I thought that he had eaten a little too much but it wasn’t normal spit-up. I decided that I would take him to the doctors the next day, when the office was open. The next day, December 10, I took Bradlee to see the doctor but since the vomiting, he also developed a really nasty cough. I don’t think I need to tell you how concerned I was. The doctor took x-rays and concluded that Bradlee had bronchiolitis. At that point in time, I had never heard of this but, after much research, now I am able to tell you that it can be fatal to infants if it isn’t treated properly.
Bradlee was given oral Albuterol, a medication for any illness associated with breathing difficulties, such as asthma. I gave him the medicine religiously but he continued to get progressively worse. We returned to the doctor. This time a different doctor told me that I was being paranoid and that the original diagnosis of RSV (bronchiolitis) could actually be asthma. Being young and naive, I trusted that this doctor may be correct. I just had to give the medicine a little time to work. I remember thinking, ‘Bradlee was prescribed medicine for asthmatics so maybe the doctor was right.’
A week later, Bradlee was still getting progressively worse, having trouble breathing so much that his lips started to turn blue and you could see him trying to inhale. I took him immediately to the doctor without calling ahead and demanded that he be seen by his regular pediatrician. He wasn’t in so the nurse put Bradlee in to see the departmental co-head. I was comfortable with him because he had treated my daughter in the past. This doctor examined Bradlee and concurred with the previous doctor…Bradlee had asthma. A follow-up appointment was made for the next Monday, 3 days away. I left the clinic with Bradlee, now showing better color in his lips and face. I was hopeful that he would be O.K. and that I was just panicking. But Bradlee didn’t make it to the next appointment.
Saturday night, December 17, 1994 was not a typical night for us. The kids dad and I had gone to a Christmas party, leaving Bradlee with a sitter. I remember not feeling right the whole time we were away…I felt something was wrong but I didn’t know what. We left the party early and went home. It seemed that I was worried for nothing. Bradlee was sleeping soundly. The sitter was taken back to her house and, while my his dad was gone, Bradlee woke up screaming, like he was in pain. I picked him up and he wouldn’t stop screaming, until he threw up, then he was fine. It seemed like he had some bad milk. I ran a bath for him and put him in. Again, he screamed like he was in pain. I couldn’t figure it out. The water was no hotter than I always put it. I quickly finished cleaning him up and redressed him then held him until he calmed down and fell asleep in my arms. I didn’t know what was happening but, at that time, I didn’t think that something was so terribly wrong that it warranted a trip to the hospital. I was going to wait for his appointment to see his regular doctor, less than 2 days away.
The next morning, Sunday, December 18, Bradlee woke me for the usual morning routine, new diaper, bottle, and a burp. He acted as if nothing were ever wrong with him. He fell asleep while I burped him so I put him back into his bassinet, on his back. I was still tired from staying up half the night worrying so I laid back in bed and soon went back to sleep. Bradlee’s sister woke their dad a little while later with terrified screams. He woke and went into the babies’ room to get find out what was wrong. He seen Bradlee, ashen in color and not breathing. He screamed for me. I knew before I even got out of bed. Bradlee was gone.
I entered the room, looked at Sissy and how terrified she was, then looked into the bassinet. Bradlee’s color was ashy; he didn’t look good. I didn’t care if it was too late…I grabbed him and proceeded to perform infant CPR. I sent his dad to call 911 and when he returned, he took over. Bradlee started to breathe again! He opened is eyes, looked at his daddy, smiled, vomited something green (now I know it’s an infection), and closed his eyes. He was gone again.
I would not allow it! Bradlee had to stay alive long enough for the doctors at the ER to give him a chance to live. I literally threw his dad across the room, who was about 100 pounds heavier than I was. I started CPR again. This time, Bradlee did the same for me. He smile at me then he closed his eyes for the last time. My life as I knew it was over right at that moment.
The ride in the ambulance was the longest ride I’ve ever been on. It seemed to take hours to get to the Emergency Room when it actually only took 5 minutes. The EMT worked on Bradlee the whole time. Today, I think that he did that to try and make me feel that there’s hope…that Bradlee would survive.
One of the hardest parts was in the ER when the nurses kept asking me what I did to my baby, accusing me of abuse. That angered me to the point that I just wanted to explode. I never harmed my children nor did I ever think about causing them harm. My babies were/are my life! When the hospital chaplain came into the family room, I knew that there was absolutely no chance that Bradlee would survive. I knew that he had gone to heaven. It took the county Medical Examiner quite a while before he came to the conclusion that Bradlee was yet another statistic. His death was ruled as SIDS.
If you lose a child, it’s the most devastating feeling. Losing a child is hard enough but when the cause is SIDS it’s harder because you don’t know what really happened. SIDS is a diagnosis of exclusion, for deaths when nothing concrete can be found to explain the death, therefore the term SIDS is only affixed once all known and possible causes of death have been ruled out and essentially means, “We have no idea why your healthy baby died.” That leaves many parents still asking “why” but there’s no answer to give them.
In my heart, I still believe that Bradlee died as a result of bronchiolitis, but I have no physical proof so there’s no choice but to “accept” the diagnosis of SIDS. Because of my thought when I found out about Bradlee, I was blaming myself for his death. I’d say things like “God knew I didn’t want him so He took him away.” and “It’s all my fault because I didn’t take him to the doctor again.” It took me years to finally accept that Bradlee’s dying had nothing to do with me. Once I accepted that, I was able to heal.
When we lost Bradlee, it was very hard on our marriage and, as a result of blaming ourselves and each other for Bradlee’s death, I filed for divorce. It was final January 2006.
