Birthday celebrations: Cheesecake and cheer

On the morning Isla was born, I must have eaten four pieces of cheesecake. In our shared language of love, my sister sent me a cheesecake party wheel to brighten my time in the hospital ante partum unit, where I had been for two weeks while doctors monitored Isla’s growth and vitals in my belly.

On the morning of the 37th week of pregnancy, I woke early to scarf down some cheesecake before my daily sonogram. My husband and I walked down the hall to the sonogram room where we learned that Isla was doing well but not growing as quickly as the doctors wanted, and that today was going to be the day for my scheduled C-section, and oh by the way, the next opening in the OR was in twenty minutes, so I was to return to my room and wait for a nurse to collect me.

I freaked out. “I can’t have surgery! I just ate a bunch of cheesecake! I’m going to puke!” I babbled at my doctor. He reassured me everything would be fine. Less than an hour later, Isla emerged from my stomach, tiny, pissed off, red-faced and screaming, clocking just under 5 pounds.

Over the years, we’ve done different things on her birthday, including releasing balloons, planting trees, making crafts, going for hikes, etc. We pull out her things and decorate the house watch videos of her, share stories, and light candles. But the constant has been a cheesecake breakfast. We think she approves.

June 10, 2015 Balloon Release

Isla is 3! Balloon Release

Leo blows out Isla’s 8th Birthday candle

Days of remembrance

June 10 is a challenging day for us every year. It brings back so many memories of the final hours we spent in Isla’s room, knowing she was slowly slipping away from us, making decisions about her plan of care while watching her struggle to breathe. It was my parent’s 41st wedding anniversary. It was after a weekend that started out with high hopes of a hospital release, then took a sharp turn on Saturday with the discovery of falling oxygen saturation and re-admittance to the CICU, and a rapid decline throughout the weekend. We had friends stop by with dinner in the hospital room. For the last 24 hours of her life, we took turns sprinting to the bathroom down the hall while the other held her. On the morning of Monday, June 10, we found ourselves struggling to get an ambulance coordinated so we could get Isla back to our local “home” so she could pass outside of the hospital.

In the end, we ran out of time. We realized the important thing was who was near, not where we were. We freed Isla from all her tubes and monitors and equipment and just let her be, holding her and telling her we loved her. In the end, we were exactly where we needed to be - together.

The anniversary of her death usually brings a contemplative and solemn day. Sometimes it’s a beautiful day outside and we take a family hike and talk about her. Other times it’s a busy workday and we just get through it, letting the tasks of the day hold our attention and reaching out to friends and family and each other throughout the day. Long-lost friends invariably reach out with messages of love and support. I can’t express how much those calls mean to me. It’s incredible to have the reminder that we aren’t alone.