Remembering Doria

One Father's Journey after the Death of his Daughter

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When There’s Nothing to Celebrate

rememberingdoria:

This was profound, from the nurse side of things.

Originally posted on Adventures of a Labor Nurse:

SHELLY
Recently, I left work so late my kids were already asleep by the time I got home. Part of me wanted to wake my daughter up, ask her about her day, and stay up late talking about all the things she had done throughout the day. I wanted to scoop up my sleeping son, smell his baby-ness and cover him with kisses. The other half of me was so exhausted, I was glad that my husband had put them to bed before I had gotten home. I fell into bed, asleep before my head even hit the pillow. I woke up the next morning before anyone else was awake, put on a clean pair of scrubs, and went back to work, rested and renewed, but determined to finish charting in time to be home at a normal hour.

It was busy that day. A few hours before shift-change, a young…

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Only One Thing to Fear

I’ve been teaching an introductory course this summer in early U.S. history. In the course, we’ve talked a lot about different fears that various people in the early nation (and before the nation) had, and different approaches and solutions that they took to alleviate them or to make them worse.

Sitting around tonight, I got to take that and think about all of the fears that came from losing Doria. There was that fear about whether I could actually get work done anymore. That’s going prodigiously right now, as the course runs on at a relentless pace, and final preparations for my own exams press on as well.

Of course, the biggest fear kept running through the rainbow wait while Zoe was bringing her own heart-stopping troubles inside the womb, with her untimely breaks in kicking, dodging the nonstress test sensors, developing the cyst that meant nothing, and right on until it was time to induce because she was in no hurry to leave her comfortable little home. I remember that night, when Becky and Zoe both lost some blood pressure right after the epidural, and the moments where leaving the maternity ward as a widower was vaguely possible (but never likely), and then that dramatic entry into the world where her cord snapped the moment she emerged. Zoe knew drama, and she wasn’t bothered by that.

As Zoe plugs along towards her first birthday, that’s become the only thing left to “fear”: the girl knows no fear. Apparently, she just assumes that she can make things work when she wants to, and charges straight ahead like consequences aren’t even possible. Obviously, some of that is a learning process and she finds out that some thnigs don’t go well, but the Zoenator never stops. There seems to be no limit to her fearlessness, which means that she’ll try anything and think it’s awesome. Whatever’s left of my heart when she’s all grown will probably be stronger. It will have to be.

Zoe knew drama on the inside. She’s fearless on the outside. I was so focused just getting to the victory line that I never bothered to think about it, but this is exactly what I would have wanted, or should have wanted. Our little rainbow girl is wildly full of life. That’s really the only concern I could ever want, because she grows up this way full of excitement and joy.

Zoe’s sleeping as I type this, resting up for whatever she has in store tomorrow…

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