July 23 – How You Left Us

Dearest Sofia,

I thought it would be just another Saturday.

I took your kuyas for a check-up while Daddy went straight to the NICU to be with you. He texted me not to bring them in to see you through the window as usual. Too much activity around you – you were being toxic, i.e. requiring a lot of attention. They were (ambu) bagging you.

It was scary but I still thought it would be ok, you’ve been like this before, scared us so many times before. Your kuyas were parked in the waiting area. I pumped milk for you. Kuya Yoachim texted me and Dad to come out, we both asked him to please wait as we were busy. Daddy didn’t want to leave you, not even for a minute. I texted people for extra prayers.

Around 5:30 pm I was so distraught, I rushed to the chapel, ran to the Father. I didn’t realize there would be a mass. I sat through its remaining half, tears streaming down my face. After almost everyone had left and the priest, Fr. Cesar, was leaving, I caught his attention. We spoke in the privacy of the office behind the altar. I was shaking and sobbing as I told him that you were not really responding to the bagging as you used to. Your oxygen saturation levels were not going up.

He talked to me about God’s will, acceptance whatever arose, though he acknowledged it would always be difficult to accept the worst case scenario. He talked to me about taking care of your kuyas. I told him I would accept it when I had to. That has always been my stand. I really begged God to let you come home with us through the last hour.

As the evening drew, your Dad and I prepared for an all-nighter of a vigil, which we have done with you a few times before, either when you were recovering from a procedure or just being toxic.We asked Lolo and Lola to pick up your kuyas. You stabilized a bit. Nurse Pam reassured me, ok lang, mommy. Matagal ka nang hindi pinaiyak ni Sofia. (It’s ok, Mommy. It has been long since Sofia last made you cry.)

While we were watching you, Daddy whispered to me that your heart rate was low. Babies’ heart rates are in the mid-100s. Yours registered in the 50s. I didn’t believe it since it was usually just the probe not getting a good reading. I asked Doc Abi what your heart rate was. They usually declared it normal after taking it manually. She said it was in the 60s. Stomach knots. I worried for your life. But I also worried that if you lived like I was still praying you would, that your reduced blood and oxygen flow the past hours might already be impacting your brain and other organs. That’s what hurt your good kidney, right?

Dad and I decided we should take turns eating. He had barely gone down, around 8 pm, when Doc Abi started pumping your chest. My hopes crashed. I debated telling him vs. letting him have a good break for dinner. I barraged him with text messages. “Doc Abi is pumping Sofia’s chest.” “Doc Alma is here.” His food had just arrived. “Pabalot mo na lang. (Have it wrapped.) Scary here.”

Your Dad watched as they worked on you. Bagging. Pumping. I don’t remember anymore when I posted a frantic pray pray pray pray pray pray pray message in facebook. After some time, Doc Alma called me and said softly, malapit na (it’s near). She prepared to have us carry you. She knew that was my wish – I texted her that after you scared us with bloody poop. But when you bounced back that time I decided against rocking the boat, because they would need to bag you manually in order for me to carry you.

Yes, that was my wish. Ever since we rushed you back to the hospital I have longed to carry you but I couldn’t because you were on the ventilator. And it was my wish that if I couldn’t take you home, that I could at least have a chance to carry you. They disconnected your IV and peritoneal dialysis. Your dad and I took turns carrying you, talking to you, touching you, kissing you everywhere. At first they were still bagging you while you were in our arms. We talked about having Lolo and Lola bring your kuyas back to the hospital so they would hear it from us. I texted Lola that we were losing you, to have your kuyas come.

You were in my arms as you peacefully took your last breath…

While the grief is great, your Dad and I are, in a sense, consoled/happy that it happened the way it did. That we were there during your final hours. That we got to hold and kiss you. That it happened peacefully. No hint of pain. It was like you were just sleeping through all the activity around you.

We called home so that Lolo and Lola could bring your kuyas over. They had not noticed my previous texts. We wanted to be the ones to let them know since we thought it would be scary to hear, or worse, overhear, it from someone else. We wanted them to see you first. Kuya Yoachim was suspicious, asking why they had to go back to the hospital. I gave him all sorts of inadequate answers, something like to just come, to talk, so we could show him something.

When they got to the hospital, Kuya Tyler was fast asleep and wouldn’t wake up with any of our prodding. We told Kuya Yoachim you had gone to heaven. We had him see you there one last time. Tears rolled down his cheeks and then he asked for Daddy’s cell phone. Thank goodness for that phone that kept him entertained in the succeeding hours. It must have been a few hours later when he said, I knew Sofia was dead when you said Dad was carrying her. Because you don’t really carry her.

I love you, huny.

- Mommy