Obituary

Finlay Irene Ramsey was born an angel on March 8, 2011, in Tallahassee, FL. Though she never got the chance to know them, she left her tiny footprints on the hearts of the large and loving family who anxiously anticipated her arrival. She will be forever missed.

Please let this be rock bottom

Today marks two weeks since my life may as well have ended. That’s when I found out she was gone. And still not a minute goes by that I don’t think of her. Not a minute goes by that it doesn’t hurt. Some minutes the pain is more intense than others. Some minutes, it is so bad that it literally takes my breath away. I can hardly even breathe, much less cry. In the darkest times, the very darkest, I wonder why on Earth God would take her from me, and leave me here without her. I wonder why he couldn’t have just taken me too. And the only reason I can come up with is that I am being punished. That it was, in whatever way, my fault that she died. Somehow, I killed my precious little Finlay, and my punishment is having to endure what is left of my life here without her.


I try to remember what I once loved about living. And when I can come up

The Nightmare Begins

Friday, March 4th started out just fine. I woke up early, too excited about my scheduled ultrasound to sleep any longer. I got dressed and headed to the doctor’s office. Dr. Hume was the specialist I was seeing because of Finlay’s slightly elevated risk for a heart defect. They were planning to look at her heart that day, and I was expecting good news and hoping to catch a glimpse of her little face that day, since she hadn’t felt like showing it at the last exam. I was on the table in no time, and a technician started without the doctor. Almost immediately, I could tell something wasn’t quite right. She kept asking how far along I was, which was 22 weeks. I saw her taking measurements and noticed that when she calculated the baby’s size, it was coming up to only around 19 weeks. She had always been right on track growth-wise, so I was a little concerned. Then the technician asked if I’d had low amniotic fluid at my last ultrasound, and if they’d said anything about the size of the placenta. No, they hadn’t. And my anxiety only increased. Dr. Hume joined us and didn’t like what he saw when he looked at her heart. It was structurally sound, he said, but was tilted in a way that it shouldn’t be. Tears were streaming down my face at this point, and I was so scared that much of the rest of what he said was a blur. I remember him talking about how this could indicate some problem that they would be better able to diagnose at Shands. He said he would be referring me there, and that I should get a call in a couple of days to schedule the appointment. I left the office confused and terrified. I fell completely apart about halfway home.
I talked to my parents, and realized just how little I really understood about what was going on. We decided that I should call my regular OB’s office, and try to get some more information before the weekend. I spoke with a nurse who was very empathetic and offered me an appointment with one of the other practice physicians for that afternoon, as my doctor was in surgery and not expected back in the office. I declined, saying I’d really rather talk to Dr. Friall. I was hoping that someone could talk to Dr. Hume and find out what exactly he thought was happening, and perhaps alleviate some of my tremendous fear. The nurse told me she’d already gotten a call from his office and that they were sending a report for my doctor to review. The nurse, whose name I failed to get, offered to personally walk over to Dr. Hume’s office and retrieve the report, and said she would make sure Dr. Friall got it that day, and that someone would call me back with some answers. She told me to go to bed and try to relax until I heard back from someone. In just a couple of hours, I got a call from my amazing doctor, Dr. Andrea Friall. She tried to calm me, explained what they knew, and really did help me to calm down some. The best thing we could do was to get more information, and the best way to do that was to go to Shands, where a pediatric cardiologist could make a diagnosis. It meant waiting, and the uncertainty was unbearable, but for the moment it was all I could do.
The weekend was pretty low-key. I rested and tried not to worry. I also didn’t feel very well. This was pretty much par for the course, since I’d had ‘morning sickness’ for the entire pregnancy. On Sunday, however, I felt a little worse. And I had this terrible feeling that something wasn’t right. I couldn’t shake it, so I went to triage at the Women’s Pavilion at TMH. I had been there before, with the ongoing risk of dehydration due to the constant vomiting. I was taken back pretty quickly, and after asking some questions, the nurse got the Doppler to look for the baby’s heartbeat. They did this every time. And every time, hearing that little heartbeat racing along was such a comforting sound. This time it didn’t happen. She tried for a while, and told me that it could just be that the baby was still small and she could be in an awkward position. She called the doctor on call, and he said he’d be right over to do an ultrasound. I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Somehow I just knew something was wrong. I called my family and asked someone to come up and be with me. I began texting everyone I could think of who might have some pull with the man upstairs and begged for prayers. And then I began praying, too. I begged God to please let her be okay. I promised that I would sleep more and eat better and do anything in the world if only she could just be okay. My sister arrived, and then my parents. The doctor came in with the bedside ultrasound, and he couldn’t see her heartbeat either. She was eerily still. My heart began to break,

The Kid Has a Name!

So after many hours spent perusing the sometimes ridiculous babynames.com, much debate with and input from a few very close friends and family members, and more than a little changing my mind…IT IS SETTLED. She has a name. And it shall be…Finlay Adair Ramsey. Why, you might ask? Because I said so. (Getting my parenting practice now.) Actually, I heard the name Finlay on a TV show a few months before I got pregnant. I liked it. When I started making my list of possible names a few weeks ago, that was one of the first to be added. I then proceeded to add about 20 other girl’s names that I saw and liked. Finally, a week ago, I got serious and cut the list down to three. Surprisingly enough, it was pretty much the first three I’d started with. The deciding factor ended up being the meaning. I KNOW! I have no idea why I didn’t look that up sooner. Finlay (sounds like Finn-lee) is a Scottish name that means ‘Fair Warrior’, which is pretty much a perfect representation of the kind of person I hope and dream my daughter will be. I want her to be ‘fair’ in every sense of the word. Pretty, sweet, tolerant, just, kind…you know, the fairest of them all and stuff. But I also hope that she will be smart and tough and independent and passionate and willing to fight for what she believes in. A perfect balance. So, there it is. Finally. Can’t wait to meet Miss Finlay Adair.
And she may even have her first nickname! I told my parents her name the other day, and got pretty much the exact mixed response I anticipated. I believe my dad’s words were, it’ll take some getting used to, but that’s nice. Later Daddy and I were at my sister’s and I was recounting my mom’s reaction to the great name unveiling. I think my sister asked my dad what he thought, and he said, “Of what? Ol’ Finnegan Apricot?” Those of you who know my dad know that this is typical Steve Ramsey. But it made me laugh, and I’ll admit to thinking of the baby as ‘little Finnegan Apricot’ more than a few times since. So, perhaps we have a nickname, at the very least, a special story to tell Finlay someday about her Grandpa and her name.

Out of the Mouths of Babes...

• Overheard while on the phone with my sister this morning, who was home with her 2 and 4 year old boys: “No, nobody needs a screwdriver." Never a dull moment in that house.

• After picking up my 6 year old niece Haylee from school today, she said, “Mammy, I know how you can get some more money,” a recurring theme with her these days. Usually she tells me of some great job she’s decided I should get. One time she said I should go work at a bakery, so that I could bring home all the extra cookies for her. Last time she told me I should just go be a doctor. Today she says, “You can get a man to bring you some home from work.” Oh, if life were only that simple!

• Haylee is always full of questions about the coming baby. Today she asked me if they would be able to tell me if I am having a girl or a boy when we go to “look at the baby” in a few weeks at my next ultrasound. I told her yes. She then says, “But how will they know since it still doesn’t have hair?” Trying to avoid an outright anatomy lesson, I replied, “Well, how did you know that your brothers were boys when they were born? They didn’t have hair.” And she patiently answered, with a touch of exasperation in her voice, “Because they TOLD us they were boys. I REALLY wanted them to be girls, though. Can you please have a girl baby so she can play with me?” Doing my best, Doodle, doing my best.

• Still my favorite baby-related conversation to date was one my sister overheard between the kids at the breakfast table a few weeks ago. Haylee: “I want Mammy to have a baby girl.” Brayden – “Well I want her to have a boy.” Haylee – “WHY?!” Brayden – “And I want her to name him Iron Man! Everyone will probably laugh about that. But not Mammy.” If my own kid thinks I’m even half as cool as my niece and nephews do, I’ll be one lucky Mommy. :)

Experiences

Things that I have experienced in the last week.
1. While shopping in Publix, I made the mistake of glancing up from my shopping list. My eyes immediately landed on a figure stooped over one of the produce cases. His back was to me, affording me a great view of his jorts, belted just below his butt cheeks, which were mostly covered by his red plaid boxers. I say ‘mostly covered’ because just above the boxers was about two inches of crack. I roll my eyes and think to myself, ‘His mother should kick his butt,’ about the time he stands up, turns around and reveals himself to be no less than 65 years old. It’s a whole new world out there.
2. At my second hospital visit this week for pregnancy-related dehydration, instead of a room, I was place in one of the 3 trauma bays, which only had a curtain. At one point during the night, a very chatty young guy was in the area next door. It finally got pretty quiet around 2 am. When my oxygen alarm began going off every minute or so, I heard what sounded like an echo. It took me a minute to realize, that dude next door was imitating every noise that came out of my room, including when I coughed or audibly sighed. It was a special kind of irritating.
3. Had to bite my tongue on visit 3 to the hospital when the admissions clerk came in to verify my information, lest I had moved or gotten married in the 2 days since my last stay. She asked all the regular questions, and then said is this the result of an accident? It was all I could do to not say, “Well, technically….” ;)
4. On another trip to Publix, this time in the pouring rain, I was nearly run down while loading my groceries by some idiot who was backing in, from the wrong direction, to the parking space right next to me, which happened to be the closest spot to the door. To do this, he had to cut off a little old lady who was approaching the spot from the correct direction. His hurry? To park and wait for the passenger whom he’d just dropped off at the door. REALLY?? Chivalry is definitely dead.

Hot and Cold

So…now that I’m reaching the end of my first trimester, I’ve been doing a little reflecting. There have been many surprises thus far, some more pleasant than others, and I’m quite sure that there will be plenty more to come. One thing that I’m not sure I was expecting was the extreme nature of pretty much everything that has happened. There don’t seem to be many happy mediums here lately. For instance, I am either completely repulsed by even the THOUGHT of any type of food, or I’m so ravenous I begin to fear for the integrity of my limbs. If I’m not so exhausted that I can hardly speak, I’m so wired that I’m up half the night.
My emotions vacillate from laughter to tears with much the same fury. Just last week, my neighbor’s ridiculous music interrupted my deep and much-needed slumber. I stormed out the front door, clad in my Christmas PJs, hair looking like something out of a Nick Nolte mug-shot and spotted the stupid teenagers in their stupid driveway with their stupid, loud car stereo. I was pissed to the point of shaking, and began screaming at the top of my lungs something about how people were trying to sleep. No, the irony does not escape me. (I console myself with the righteous belief that I, at least, disturbed the peace with the best of intentions.) And no, I couldn’t give less of a crap that those idiots were looking at me, wide-eyed, like I was from outer space, or that they undoubtedly had quite a laugh at my expense later. I guess my point here is that my reaction was probably somewhere just short of completely rational. I retreated back to my bed, and naturally, couldn’t get back to sleep. I turned on the Investigation Discovery channel, and in literally 15 minutes, I was moved to tears by some woman talking about her missing friend. Tears of the boo-hooing variety. Yes. I may, in fact, be completely insane.
Cravings are pretty intense, too. Most of the time, you can ask me what I want to eat, and I can’t come up with a single thing that doesn’t make my stomach turn. And then occasionally, I begin to crave something extremely specific, and with a passion that still sometimes surprises me. When, like last week, I crave something completely unattainable, this can be a real pain in the rear. I haven’t had a Four Cheese & Tomato Panini from Fazoli’s in at least 4 years. And suddenly, it’s all I can think about. But with 60 miles and a state line between me and the nearest Fazoli’s, it’s just not going to happen. That was not a good day. But I think days like today more than make up for it. I woke up from a dream in which I was enjoying some Rally’s fries. I tried to forget about it, because I thought Rally’s was no more. But I couldn’t get it out of my head. So I looked online and found a Checkers not too far away. I am embarrassed to admit how much I enjoyed those fries. I don’t think any one thing since childhood has brought me the level of joy and contentment that satisfying some of these cravings has. I guess the volatile nature of my existence lately has its perks after all.

It's 5 o'clock (AM) Somewhere

I've had writer's block for quite some time. Every few weeks, I say to myself, "You should really update that blog of yours, woman." And then I can't come up with anything that is particularly witty or insightful that I feel like sharing. Today, I lower my standards. You've been warned.

A few weeks ago, my life changed dramatically with the appearance of two little pink lines on a plastic stick. Leave it to me to experience the most pivotal moment of my life thus far in a bathroom. Questionable atmoshpere notwithstanding, I was pretty immediately very excited. Of course, I was simultaneously completely frappin' terrified, but I'm definitely leaning more towards excited.

Those of you who know me well know that I've never been the most maternal of girls. Now you also know that I love to death my niece and my two nephews. And that I'd do anything in the world for them. Provided that 'anything in the world' does not involve poop, snot, vomit or pretty much any other disgusting bodily fluid. I wish I were exaggerating, but thems the facts, Jack. If there is ANYbody else around, en route, or quickly summonable when disaster strikes, I'm not getting my hands dirty. I've tried it. Don't like it. Almost hurled on a young Brayden once. Learned my lesson. You have to play to your strengths in life. Turns out my strengths lie in feeding them candy and finding funny YouTube videos to watch together. I'm told that the whole diaper dilemma is "different when it's your child." I would love for that to be the case, but I gotta admit, I'm harboring some serious doubt.

I have always thought that being pregnant seemed like, well, a pain in the ass. A little person inside you, making themselves at home, moving and kicking you, making your butt double in size, and then having the nerve to want to come out!?!?! My sister and my friends all talk about how much they LOVED being pregnant. I figured either it was one of those you-had-to-be-there kind of things, or that I was just wired wrong. Because there was not a whole lot about what I witnessed during their pregnancies that looked like a party to me. Well, here I am. Pregnant. And if the last few weeks are any indication, I think I'm gonna have to go with the alternative wiring.

So far, pregnancy has proven to be every bit as uncomfortable and inconvenient as I'd imagined it to be. Between the all-day morning sickness, terrible insomnia, and a newly heightened sense of smell that would make a bloodhound green with envy, I am keeping pretty busy. And still I manage to find the time to pee every 2 or 3 hours. Yeah, Melissa, I can see why you love this so much. This is the stuff dreams are made of. :)

And, oh man, the cravings! Most of the time, nothing in the world sounds even remotely edible to me. But I'm told I have to eat, so I spend a considerable amount of time scrolling through a mental list of every food I've ever tasted and liked even a little bit. Sometimes this is an exercise in futility. Other times, I come up with one very random thing that I suddenly don't think I can survive without for a moment longer. First it was banana peppers. Then it was frozen SmartOnes Ravioli. Last week my nephew gave me my first Sour Patch Kid. I drove to a convenience store late that night to get my own bag. Tonight I ate a bowl of papaya and pineapple, topped with chopped walnuts, shredded cheddar and whipped cream. I know, I know. But it was HEAVENLY! As strange as the cravings are, the aversions are definitely worse. Suddenly things I used to LOVE make me literally ill to even think about. At least I still love salad.

I know I'm doing a lot of complaining here. That's because this mess is rough! It's early days though, so perhaps my views will change as the time goes by. I remain extremely excited about the end result. Not entirely sure what in the world I'm gonna do with this little creature once it gets here, but I know we'll work it out. :) And I know that I have THE greatest bunch of family and friends that I can turn to for answers and support, and for that I am immeasurably grateful this Thanksgiving.

New Tunes

It seems, the older I get, I find that my new favorite songs are my old favorite songs.  From the Beatles to The Who to the Black Crowes to Radiohead, that stuff never gets old.  And for the most part, when I'm paying attention, I just can't get into some of the crap they call music today.  I just don't get Lady Gaga, and thus far I seem to be immune to 'Bieber Fever'.  Creepy is what that is.  But every once in a while, I come across an exception, be it something I hear in a movie or a suggestion from a friend.  Today, a friend recommeded a band called Broken Bells.  I checked out one song on YouTube and immediately ordered the whole album for 5 bucks on Amazon (mp3 download).  I have been listening to it all day, every chance I got, and it is amazing.  James Mercer from the Shins has collaborated with Danger Mouse aka producer-musician Brian Burton to make a listen-on-repeat worthy album.  I love discovering new music, and I love to share it.  Have a listen, and maybe you'll feel the same way.

Time to Bust out the Nerve Pills

So, yeah.  I'm afraid of fireworks.  Seriously, ridiculously afraid of fireworks.  As in, can not be in a room with a firework of any kind even if they were soaking in water.  Crazy, you're thinking, right?  But it doesn't end there.  Balloons, rubber bands (that are being pointed at me in a threatening manner), canned biscuits, putting air in my tires - all the stuff of nightmares to me.  If there is the slightest potential of it exploding, I am running the other way.  The kids find this hilarious.  The little sadists chase me with balloons!  My shrieking retreats never fail to amuse.  I have always been treated in similar fashion by co-workers, upon their discovery of my phobia.  And, yes, it is an actual phobia.  My sister is afflicted as well.  Obviously this is discrimination of the cruelest variety.  Everybody's afraid of something.  How about if I started chasing some of my friends around with snakes or spiders?  Not so funny then, huh? 

Needless to say, this is not my favorite time of the year.  Go America, and all, but keep your firecrackers.  Give me some earplugs and a valium, and wake me up sometime next week, when all the explosive patriotism has died down.