Anna Claire, You Are Still My Sunshine
Anna Claire, my one and only child, passed away in my arms when she was three weeks old from complications from a condition call gastroschisis. During the growth and development of the fetus, there is a stage where the intestines and organs are initially developed outside the abdomen and are then pulled inside as it develops around them. Anna's case was worsened due to her liver being remaining on the outside of her body as well as her intestines. Most infants will survive the surgery that takes place within the first few days that they were born. This entails slowly inserting the intestines back into the body, while gradually expanding the abdomen wall to make room for it all. Anna was two months premature, which meant that her body could not physically house both the intestines and her liver, leaving no other option than to leave her liver out until she could grow and become more stabilized. In efforts to protect her liver from the elements that surrounded her, they decided to perform a rare procedure where they take a piece of skin from a cadaver that would be large enough to wrap the liver and to attach it to her skin in the hopes that she would accept the skin as her own. Doubt settled in as days went by and Anna had yet to accept the skin. Nearly a week later, I entered the NICU to find the surgeon and Anna's doctor at her bedside. They were there to tell me that Anna's new skin was circulating blood and that there was hope and a will to continue fighting for her life. Optimism was abound that morning, but would slowly drift away as time went on. Anna's need for oxygen to live was increasing at heavy levels, as her lungs began to fill with fluid. Her dopamine levels began to climb and her stats were indicating that my little angel was tired and that her battle was becoming too great to fight.
On the morning of September 31st, I signed DNR, (do not resecitate) papers on Anna. Once signed, every nurse who knew and aided Anna, all surgeons, doctors, and my mother, were there to console me and to ultimately say their "good byes" to Anna. Later that evening, after visitation hours were over and very few mothers in the NICU reading and loving their child from distance, I notified my nurse that I wanted to take Anna off her oxygen and let her dance with the angels in heaven.
On October 1st at 12:30 am all alone with Anna, her nurse placed her in my arms for the first and last time. No tubes, monitors, or ivs came between us. At 3:30 am the doctor would notify me that Anna's sweet and precious heart had stopped beating.
At 6am, I finally let her go.
I gently laid her down back into her bed and walked away, never to see "My Anna" again.
As the doors shut behind me, I knew I would never be the same.
A lifetime's worth of dreams were to never be acknowledged again.
My spirit and faith had nearly evaporated and all I was left with was me.
There are two roads one can take when something so tragic and unexplainable happens to an individual, one that consists of fighting and the other to give up.
The day following her death, I decided to fight for life, much like Anna had fought for hers.
I used art as way to fight. To find the beauty in her life and to memorialize her through works of art.
If it hadn't been for art, I most likely would have given up.
It is this experience in my life that brings me to share this with you today, how I am influenced and amazed at how powerful art has been to my healing process over the loss of Anna.
I promise not all experiences I detail on this blog will be as sad, but I can guarantee that this will reflect how the artz can provide a very nurturing and therapeutic outlet and release for all.
