Mothers Day

I remember while serving as an LDS missionary writing in my journal. I never considered it a habit, but I managed to jot down impressions and feelings around certain times of the year like holidays or birthdays. Today on the eve of an important day, I was determined to write again. Tomorrow we will visit the graveside of our daughter so that Chanel can spend some time with Isabella. We both have been missing our daughter greatly recently, and I always try to comfort Chanel the best that I can. Today, I decided to write Chanel a poem on a little homemade card (by homemade I mean something photo-shopped and printed in full color on card-stock). I hope she likes it better than some last-minute Wal-Mart card that so many people were buying today (it took us an hour just to stand in line for some tortillas!). I decided to make the card while editing a few projects on my laptop today. Tomorrow we are planning to visit my Grandmother and mother after we attend church, and therefore needed some photoshop done for gifts. I created a label to cover a box of chocolate-covered strawberries, and edited a picture of Isabella to put into a picture frame. My mother has collected a series of professional photos of her grandchildren over the years. This pictures feature every grandchild with white robes and angel wings, occasionally bearing a harp. It's a cute collection, but my mother never had to opportunity for Isabella to take such pictures. Chanel thought it would be a good gift to simply edit a picture we had and add angel's wings. Below, I posted both the poem for Chanel and the picture of Isabella. Happy Mothers Day to mothers and future mothers alike. What a blessed job.

Times
by Kyle Preston

Remember all those times we've had
since we first began?
Some were good and some were rough
and some a little blah.

Some times we would laugh
and some times we felt down.
Some times we would talk a lot
and some times drive around.

Some times we would play and
some times just relax.
Some times we could shop alot and
some times clean the house.

Some times we could shout aloud
(and maybe we still do.)
Some times you would work real hard
while I was off at school.

Some times we would daydream
and wish for brand new things.
Some times we plan ahead for
what the future brings.

But no matter where or when or how;
no matter how dull or sad
I'll always love the times now past
and all the times we'll have.

It's Not Cancer...

While browsing through Facebook, Chanel and I came across a CNN article that was submitted by a family staying in St. Louis. They seem to be going through the same things we experienced.

It Is Killing Our Babies and It Is Not Childhood Cancer

Impossibilities

It is hard to find things to write about anymore. It is almost like a writers block. I look at websites or Facebook at the other people who struggle with CDH children and it reminds me or Missouri and all those days spent in a hospital room. The day after Isabella's funeral was the start of a new college semester for me. Staying on task and focused never was this difficult. Math seems more difficult, chemistry more distant and psychology more confusing. As my father offered a prayer during the funeral service he stated how Isabella had left an imprint on his life. It makes me ponder and reflect on just how much she made an impact on mine. Now we worry about bills to pay, cars that need fixing and tuition that needs to paid, but our the memory of our daughter is just as present. Chanel and I are getting married in February and although we try moving forward with our lives it is difficult. Chanel still struggles through these hard times, and breaks down in tears without warning. It always seems to catch me off guard but I know how she feels. This is the saddest experience either one of us has gone through so far in our young lives. The death of a loves one who had so much to give and gave as much as she could the short time she was with us. It is nothing short of heartbreaking. Yet here are, our meaningless day to day challenges causing us to push on with life. To continue to try to live our lives to their fullest while maintaining our sanity. It is not easy, but it is not impossible.

Our Winter

Weather has played quite the significant role during these past few months. City bus passes allowed me access to most of St. Louis, or at least the parts that their buses could reach. Other than that it was walking. Much like my time as a missionary, it was up and down hills and from bus stop to connecting bus stop no matter the conditions. Wether it was raining or freezing, It was my job to wake up early everyday and get to the hospital to be with Chanel by any means possible. I could not worry about how I felt, or how the weather affected me, but what I needed to accomplish each day. I did not realize how cold it was until I walked out to the car that Monday morning. It had rained overnight, but strangely enough mine was the only car wet. The sky was a mixture of white and grey, and the top of the Superstition Mountains were hiding under thick white clouds. It was a perfect day. The cool breeze was inviting and soothing to my heart. Although it was significantly colder here in Arizona than in Missouri, I would not trade it for the world. That was the morning of Isabella's funeral service, a day I will always remember. It was a celebration of her life, as our Bishop stated, no matter how short-lived. The details I can not forget, like the expressions on the faces of my close friends. I can relate the feelings I had while at the pulpit and watching the people listening to me. Despite the few times I took my eyes away from the eulogy I had written, I remember individual smiles sent my way. Today is the burial of our daughter Isabella. I hope to remember this day as much as the other significant dates associated with our daughter. Chanel picked me up from school, where I quickly changed into my sunday best before driving out to Mesa. Now, here we are at the Mesa Cemetery. Isabella will be laid to rest near her Grandfather Gerardo Flores and her Great Grandmother Elvira Flores. Elvira always wanted a baby girl but only bore sons. Before she died, she told Chanel that if she ever had a daughter that she was to name her Esmerelda, hence Isabella's middle name. Today's weather rivals that of Mondays. There is no breeze or clouds but the sun is shining bright. The faces are slightly different today, some relaxed and calm while others seem tense. The service is short, a dedication of the grave is made, and we all part ways. Such sweet and simple memories I can not forget.

A Father's Prayer

Eulogy given by Kyle as part of the funeral service:



     Thank you all for coming today, and thank you for your continued love, prayers and support. Our beautiful daughter Isabella Esmeralda Preston was born on January 7th, 2012 and passed away only 23 hours later on January 8th. Although she lived only a short time, her story and her life are nothing short of a miracle. On October 18th 2011, Isabella was diagnosed with a congenital diaphragmatic hernia, or CDH. She was only 21 weeks old. There was a hole in her diaphragm that was just too big, and the doctor gave her no chance to survive. We were advised to no longer pursue this pregnancy. Her lungs could not grow and her heart was being displaced by intruding organs. There is no cure for babies with CDH and all treatment possibilities are still considered experimental, and without medical proof. Chanel's heart and mine were broken.
     We began researching and learning as much as we could about CDH, and sought out help. A support group was found for parents with CDH children and infants, and we discovered treatments proven successful that could possibly help Isabella. Over the next few weeks we constantly fought to save our daughter. We made daily phone calls and sent various emails to hospitals and institutions throughout the country. Not a moment was wasted by Chanel as she searched diligently for possible solutions to our dire situation. We found a team of doctors willing to work with Isabella in San Francisco. After days of discussion, it was determined that we must travel to San Francisco within the week if there was to be any chance of survival. However, as we made travel plans the insurance company called to inform us the surgery our daughter desperately needed was would not be covered. Our first of many miracles came a few days later, when inquiries made were responded by a hospital in St. Louis, Missouri. Despite issues with insurance coverage, they offered to treat Isabella free of cost. Our tears and prayers had been answered.
     We left as soon as possible, knowing our daughter was on a delicate schedule. We arrived in St. Louis and immediately witnessed another miracle. The Ronald McDonald House Charity had a vacant room open up for Chanel and I to stay in while living so far from home. The Ronald McDonald House was next door to the hospital, and well within walking distance. Days after arriving, baby Isabella received her first surgery while still in the womb. An ultra-sound confirmed that the surgery went better than any of the doctors had expected. Everything was falling into place and we could feel God's presence and he continued to bless our lives.
     Christmas came and went, and we sat in the hospital room waiting for the second surgery that would be performed immediately after Isabella was born. However, Chanel's water had broke just days before the New Year. This is a common problem for babies with CDH, and now Isabella was at risk of a pre-mature birth. She was only 30 weeks old now, and unless she reached 32 weeks, her lungs would not be able to withstand the second surgery. Early in the morning on January 7th, 2012 at exactly 32 weeks old, Isabella was born into our lives. We had experienced another great miracle.
     They brought Isabella into the hospital room for Chanel and I to see, and then immediately transported her to the nearby children's hospital where she was put on life support. Hours later, doctors explained that Isabella was slowly slipping away, and she would not live through the night. Chanel was transported immediately to Isabella's bedside and we spent the last few hours of our daughters life together as a family. She was taken of all life support, and we held baby Isabella in out arms as we witnessed another miracle. A nurse with us asked if we were members of the LDS faith, and offered a blessing for our baby.    
     Moments later, Isabella passed away in the comfort of our arms. We spent the rest of the night holding her, contemplating the blessing she was to us and her miraculous journey we had been part of. Certainly her mothers perseverance provided the means for her to enter this world, and our love comforted her as she left. We have no regrets, and we know that everything humanly possible was done to provide Isabella with a fighting chance. She was a fighter, and she fought until the very end.
     We are grateful for her inspiration and the role Isabella has played in our lives. We know she would of loved to meet all of you. We know she would of loved our friends and family. We know she would of loved to attend school and gain an education. We know she would of loved it here in beautiful Arizona. We know she would of loved to attend church, and learn more about the Savior and his Gospel. We know we will meet her again. We know that we can be sealed together as a family in the Temple for time and all eternity. I love you Isabella. Your mother loves you. We all love you, and we will miss you dearly.

Our Daughter's Funeral

A funeral service will be held on Monday January 16th at 11 a.m. for Isabella. She will be laid to rest at the Mesa Cemetery on Wednesday January 18th. Yesterday we traveled to the funeral home that would be in charge of the funeral in Apache Junction. We were greeted immediately with open arms by our funeral director. We learned that she too had lost an infant after birth, and sympathized with our loss. We discussed times and locations, and spoke about Isabella's current condition. Her body was in Mesa at the funeral homes additional facility. We had brought her tiny dress, as we were under the impression that she was in this building, and that we would see her then. We were instructed to drive into Mesa the next day where we could dress her and decorate her casket. Both Chanel's mother as well as mine tagged along, and we were all excited to see Isabella. She was in a more delicate state than we have before seen. Because little is known about CDH, we knew doctors could benefit from what Isabella could teach them. An autopsy was performed in St. Louis before we had returned to Arizona, and we had not seen Isabella since. Her frail body was wrapped in a plastic from the neck down that protected her during travel. The plastic could not be removed under any circumstance. We dressed our daughter in the most beautiful of dresses, and put little ballet slippers on her feet. Chanel and I sat in the room for a while afterwards with Isabella and wrapped her in her grandmothers crocheted blanket. She looked so peaceful and beautiful. We wept over our daughters open casket, but not for very long. We were finally coming to terms with ourselves that this would not be the last time we would see Isabella. We kissed our daughter goodbye, wiped our tears and left for home. There was still funeral arrangements that needed doing. We want everything to be perfect for our little princess.

Safe Harbor

There was a lot of buzz aboard the airplane as we made our final decent into Phoenix. It was interesting to fly into the valley from the east, as I have only re-entered from Utah north of us. We opened our little window to the beautiful view of Four Peaks and Saguaro Lake beneath us. Chanel and I began to play the naming game as we recognized landmarks and called out famous buildings we could see. As we descended lower and lower, we noticed the Mesa Temple, the US-60, and finally Sky Harbor Airport. We were finally home with Isabella safe and sound. Arizona has never looked so illustrious. Chanel's mother is picking us up in a few minutes, and we are still on the plane as a group of "snow birds" struggle to exit their seats. We both are anxious to see our families, and it is hard to be patient right now. All that stands between us and our loved ones is baggage claim. As we exit the plane and walk through the terminal, we both notice a kind of erie hush throughout the airport. It was a reverence that calmed Chanel and I after we had done so much traveling. and running around. As we waited in baggage claim, Chanel's mother and Rylan walked in, with Rylan carrying a bouquet of flower for his mom. Chanel fell to her knees, despite the pain from her cesarian incision, and weeped as she held her little boy in her arms. Chanel was once again happy, and finally, we could go home.

Almost There

I woke up a little earlier than usual despite spending most of the night wide awake. I made my way to the hospital as usual via light-rail, still bearing a heavy heart from the previous days. When I arrived at the hospital, Chanel was already awake and lying in bed watching television. She told me that she had been discharged from the hospital and could leave when she was ready. She continued to explain that today would be quite busy. We were going to a local funeral home to prepare transportation and work out some of the details of our flight back to Arizona. We relayed information on the phone between our families, the hospitals, and funeral homes both in Arizona and Missouri. We decided we would fly home Wednesday, mid-day, along with the casket carrying our precious baby. As the funeral home general manager talked to us he learned inadvertently that we were members of the LDS faith. He explained how he too was a member of our church. How blessed we already were to be in Missouri, but what a miracle it has been to run into so many members of our church. Just a week before Chanel was admitted into the hospital, we ran into missionaries at the Ronald McDonald House. While I had been traveling between there and the hospital, I continued to find missionaries on the light-rail and even between buses. But the encounter that I will always remember came the morning Isabella passed away. One of the nurses in the intensive care unit approached us. He asked if we were members of the church and we said yes. He explained how he was a High Priest in a local stake in St. Louis and could offer a blessing if we so needed. We do not know how he knew we were members, and we never asked him. We still can not recall what his name is, both of us being too distraught with grief to remember and despite much debate. What we do remember is feeling the spirit of God ever so fervent as he laid his hands on Isabella's head and blessed her, and again moments later to comfort Chanel. What a miracle to have the Priesthood bless us so far away from home and regardless of our situation. After we had finished speaking with the funeral home, we went to Fazoli's, a restaurant chain that no longer exists in Arizona. It was a childhood favorite for Chanel and I, and was conveniently located next door to the funeral home. Afterwards, we picked up a few groceries and headed "home" to rest. Tomorrow's another day and there is still plenty to plan for the funeral. We did decide to hold the funeral on Monday, the 16th. Being a holiday, we know our friends and family will have work and school off to help celebrate the life of Isabella. As always, we will keep everyone posted with the details as they are decided upon.

The Sooner, The Better

The last couple of days have been too spiritually hard to describe. I am trying the best I can to keep my mind occupied so that I will not be sad. Staying at the Ronald McDonald house while the love of my life is still in the Hospital does not help either. Facebook notifications make Chanel's cell phone chime on the nightstand next to my bed. My friends are sending me messages of hope and love and I can not fall asleep. I can not stop weeping as I read their loving thoughts and prayers for Chanel and I. I love my friends so much, they have always been there for me. I just can not get Isabella out of my head, and my mind will not rest. I can feel her presence and her love. We spent most of today in Chanel's hospital bed holding and comforting one another. To keep from crying anymore, I turn on the NFL playoffs and watch the Broncos vs. the Steelers game. It was a really good game, and for the moment I feel happy. Chanel knows how much I love watching sports and I know how much she despises it, but she sits and watches it with me anyways. We called our families and started coordinating funeral arrangements with them. We will by flying back to Arizona with Isabella within the next week. Unfortunately, the return tickets for our flight expired. The hospital that flew us out here had made a mistake on our tickets home which render them useless. We will figure everything out. Things have fallen into place almost perfectly unto this point. We still need to take things one day at a time. Chanel is still recovering, and I already have our suitcases packed. I can not escape these painful memories fast enough. I just want to go home now. We miss beautiful Arizona, and we miss our friends and family.

Untitled

It's 1 in the morning and the room phone wakes me up. Chanel is crying and although I can not understand every word, I know what's wrong. As I run down the street to the Hospital, I call my mom. I tell her what Chanel told me, Isabella is getting worse. As I sit here, waiting for St. Mary's to transfer Chanel, Isabella is moving a little more than she was earlier. She is kicking a little bit, the way she would when she was only 30 weeks old. I can still remember her playfully kicking mommy's belly trying to get daddy's attention as Chanel would say. Her hand is finally open and she is holding my finger. It is killing me inside the more I think about things, like how I never got to hold her or play with her. It is 1:30 now, Chanel should be here any minute. My mind keeps flashing back to when we made the decision to come out East. Of course we were making the right choices, as hard as they were. CDH still has no known cause or cure, but we had to do something. We had to do anything and everything we could do to save Isabella. Chanel is here, it is 1:45 a.m. She is even more heartbroken than I am. She has gone through so much, and done even more to bring our daughter into this life. We are able to receive privacy and we both are left alone with our baby. We talk to Isabella, comfort her and comfort one another. It is now 2:30 and the doctors have just finished confirming what we already knew,that Isabella was a fighter. She stayed strong through everything that came her way. She was just too tired in the end. After another hour had past, we bathe her and they tell is it is time to let us hold her, which raises both our spirits greatly. It is not too long after they disconnect Isabella from any life support that she is in her mothers arms. I hold her a while, and a doctor comes to check her heartbeat. Her heart has stopped beating. She spent her last moments with the two people who loved her most. She is smiling, and that is the image I will carry with me forever. We love you Isabella, you will be missed dearly. She died at only 23 hours old.

The Seventh: Part III

Chanel was not able to be released just yet from St. Mary's Hospital so I came alone to spend some time with my daughter. I am with Isabella holding her hand right now as nurses continue to run tests and take blood from her. She is so adorable, I can not even tell if she looks more like her mother or if she looks like me. She has big hands and feet, like mine, and she has my big ears. She has her moms nose and although they remain closed, i bet he has her mothers eyes. She keeps moving her left foot and toes, and she will not open her hands from a fist. In between those moments she lies there almost motionless except her chest, which is vibrating from the oxygen machines. I cry a little bit every time she moves and hope she will open her hand from that fist and grab my hand. I know she is scared, she has no control over what's happening to her and the computers in the room will not stop beeping. I wish Chanel was here with me, honestly she is stronger than I am. It is hard to hold back all these emotions I am feeling and my constant weeping is obvious to the hospital staff. I wish I had the power in me to help her, but I do not. I never imagined things would be a hard as they have been either. It did not seem hard at first. I would be traveling with another person without our families far away to live for a while. I mean, it is not like I haven't done that before. She is so beautiful. Although I do not know what tomorrow brings, I keep thinking about what she will be like in a few years. I can see her holding my hand as we are walking somewhere and I can see us sitting on a couch together as we watch a movie. It is what I always imagined us doing when she is older. There are more nurses in here now, one is on the phone with Dr. Yang relaying information. Even though I completely confide in the staff here, I am scared. So is Chanel, and so is Isabella.

The Seventh: Part II

No news from the children's hospital since about noon. Last time we spoke with them they were telling us that she was improving gradually and that we would be able to see her later today. I intended to follow soon after the transfer, however Chanel's health was now also a concern for me. Chanel told me what happened last night, and how strong sudden contractions woke her up from her sleep and sent her rushing into the operating room. Isabella was trying to make her mom give birth, but the doctors needed to perform an emergency Cesarean. There was no time for injections or drugs for Chanel, so she was simply put to sleep with gas as fast as possible. After surgery, I could tell she was in a lot of pain. Earlier, the nurses explained that of Chanel could begin to walk and get out of bed with the addition of an increase in stamina and health she could be taken to visit Isabella at the other hospital. This is a hard task for her, as she had not slept since 4:30 a.m. this morning and is extremely tired. We want more than anything to go see our baby, but I can not leave Chanel alone. If she wants to go see the baby, she has to have someone with her. So while Isabella is at Cardinal Glennon Children's Hospital miles away, we are sitting here playing our favorite game. I've just been on the couch in our room, looking at the pictures I took of Isabella on an Iphone during the brief encounter I had earlier when she was wheeled into Chanel's recovery room. Outside our room, I can hear the hospital's P.A. system. Every time a child is born here, they play a short rendition of a children's lullaby throughout the hospital. I guess it is their way of rejoicing the miracle of birth. I wish I had heard it when Isabella was born. I can not wait to see my sweet little baby again. The hospital offers a photographer to take picture of newborns with their parents, and has scheduled us to take pictures tomorrow morning. As long as Chanel feels better, we will be there.

The Seventh

Here we are where it all began, the very same room we were in to prepare Chanel for surgery in early December. I came to realize Isabella had already been born about 30 minutes after I got the call that Chanel was in labor. That puts me in downtown St. Louis on a train headed for the hospital the moment she was born. I arrived to find Chanel half awake surrounded by nurses on every side. It was not until a few light congratulations were thrown my way that I came to understand Isabella had already been born. When it was finally my turn, I took Chanel's hand and kissed it, then proceeded to kiss her softly on her forehead. Her face was covered with an oxygen mask, and she could not speak very loudly to me. One of the doctors, Dr. Yang came in and told us the condition of Isabella. At 3 pounds 12 ounces, she was in stable condition, but without any major improvement in lung performance within the next couple hours, they do not know what will happen. They are transferring Isabella back to the Children's hospital, and we will follow shortly after. They told us they would wheel in Isabella before the transfer so we could see her, which made me very excited. Isabella entered the room with an arsenal of paramedics and nurses, escorting machines and her glass isolette draped in blankets. They removed the blanket from the side so we could look in. She was so tiny and fragile. Tubes ran from inside the isolette to a variety of machines helping her breathe. One side of her isolette opened, and Chanel was able to hold Isabella's hand for a minute. As she did so, Isabella's heart rate monitor increasingly sped up. She knew who her mom was, and that made all of us really happy. Another round of light congratulations was succeeded by Isabella being moved into the hallway and towards the ambulance where she could be transferred.

Can't Stop Tomorrow

The number seven has always been my lucky number. I always picked it as my jersey number when it was available, and it was my favorite professional soccer players number as well. Even when my mom worked for the school district driving buses she drove the number seven bus, which was also mine. Today is the seventh of January, 2012. I woke up at 5:30 am. to two missed calls by some local number. Voicemail tells me it's one of Chanel's nurses, and that Chanel has gone into labor. She will be delivering baby Isabella this morning. The funny thing is that in the voicemail, the nurse asks me to call them back as soon as I get the message but not to freak out or rush to the hospital and to take my time. I call them to let them know I'm on my way and jump into the shower almost simultaneously. Of course I'm freaking out. Today marks 32 weeks for Isabella. Just yesterday the doctors were asking us about delivering around 34 weeks or if we wanted to wait until 37 weeks, allowing more time for Isabella's lungs to develop of course. Right now it is 6:35 a.m. and I am on the bus pulling up to the hospital. Once again it is time for the waiting game.