Things That Help, and Things That Don't.

We're currently on a vacation that originated solely to get us some time away from day-to-day and all that entails. It's been relaxing. It's given us time to think. It's given us a chance to be together, just the three of us. We've spent the mornings alternating between walking slowly on the beach and running maniacally down the beach trying to wear out Gavin. It's too cold to actually "go to the beach," but it's a nice place to spend some time.

Between the 12 hour drive and the down time on the beach, we've spent a few minutes discussing the subject that serves as the title of this post. We're going through a very difficult process that most people are not able to comprehend. Before the doctor said it to us, we'd never heard of Trisomy 18. We don't have a lot of friends who have lost children. We don't hang out with therapists. So it's not unusual that in casual communication people find themselves at a loss for words.

There is no guideline for what helps and what doesn't. But there are certainly things people can say and do that will help. And conversely there are things people can say or do that won't. In a previous post I linked to this site. There are some good tips there.

Rather than list a bunch of things that do or don't help us cope with what we're going through, it may be more useful to direct people to this page (same site, different page). Check it out if you're curious.

In the meantime, remember this: the fact that you recognize that there may be something that does or does not help shows that you care. Caring is what we need most. Just making an effort means a lot.

"We" and "Us"

If you've been reading the previous posts, you've noticed that they're all published by me and thus written in my voice. You may have also noticed I refer to "we" and "us" when discussing the decision-making process and/or the status of the pregnancy.

I think it's clear to say everyone recognizes that I am not actually carrying the baby. People may also be wondering how much input a person not carrying the baby can have on the decision.
This is an incredibly strange position for a man to be in. All the fathers out there can identify with attempting to sympathize with their partner while she does all the hard work: gaining weight, losing sleep, having their body taken over, not to mention actually delivering the baby [if you've only witnessed child birth through the "real-life" movie they show in Health class, you have no idea. The nurse's insisted on putting a chair behind me during delivery because it's not unusual for dad's to pass out. Fortunately (or unfortunately) I've seen worse and was at no risk of passing out. Some of you out there - and I have a few of you in mind - make sure you know precisely where that chair is because you'll need it]. With any pregnancy there is a fine line between identifying and annoying. As they get more pregnant, they get more irritable, and it's perfectly within their rights. This is when you need to be careful, as a man.

The point here is this: I recognize that I can't possibly know what my wife is feeling just being pregnant. There is no way I can attempt to know what she is feeling as she carries a baby with a potentially fatal condition. My goal in this process is simply to identify and support. I hope I am doing a good job.

And as for the decision-making process, for the curious, I went full-circle. Erin knows this now so I guess I can share it. Mt first instinct was to end the pregnancy at diagnosis. I didn't share this at the time. After countless conversations with Erin, where my sole intention was to present both sides of the decision, I decided that what I really needed was to meet the baby. Erin decided this for herself as well. Sitting back and letting Erin decide was always my intention, I only offered input when asked. In the end, it's just fortunate we both saw things the same way. It made an incredibly tense time in our lives more manageable in that we had no tension between us.