Noah's Road

Today we dug through our closets to find something decent to wear and we dug into our hearts to again find the strength and the words to express our losses to the Judge, with the great weight of hope that she would hand down the jury’s recommended sentence to Trudy. Mike didn’t sleep for several nights. For the last week I kept obsessing over menial things in an attempt to forego the inevitable emotional exhaustion that would follow today. Because I’m too paranoid to have my boys watched by anyone other than those who know them well, we had three – not just one – but three close friends watch over them. One of my closest friends brought her little girl over (she’s only 17 days older than Noah but already has a handful of words, while Noah is only babbling on occasion). And so, while we were recounting the darkest moments of the last year, Noah was at least smiling and taking a tour of the neighborhood in our Radio Flyer wagon with his little girlfriend with the curly brown hair. I hear they played toddler footsie! That knowledge gave me peace as Mike and I gave our victim impact statements, and as we sat in the courtroom listening to the character testimony about Trudy.

I can’t attempt to express all that I have felt through this trial, and now in knowing that this legal chapter is over. (I know an appeal will be in the works, but I can’t focus my energy on that.) Crying is my day job; I should get paid for it. But I haven’t just cried at what Noah has lost, what I have lost, what my dear husband and our family have lost. I have cried several times because it saddens me so greatly that the woman I trusted with all my heart – the woman I raved about to everyone I knew, who seemed to dote on Noah – is in jail because she shook my son. When the detectives told Mike and me last April that she had lifted her arms and, holding a baby doll, illustrated how she shook Noah, I bawled. It wasn’t just because my son was lying down the hall, having just emerged from a coma, but it was because someone I had cared about so greatly had betrayed me. I had believed in her before then. Mike had to console me I was so unhinged, though I know he was angry with me for crying over the woman who had clearly admitted to harming my son.

Today I thought about that old version of myself – young, naïve, trusting – when I listened to the testimony of two women who spoke about how wonderfully Trudy had cared for their children over the years. One of them, I wonder if she realizes, I called as a reference more than a year ago. Only yesterday I watched her on a January Peruvian news story about Trudy. She sat in her house with her two boys, one of them rambunctious and wearing a superhero costume, and she spoke again of Trudy’s character. Would she be so certain if it was her trust that had been shattered? One of Trudy’s defense attorneys asked each of these women today whether they would still entrust their children to Trudy, despite the fact that a jury found her guilty. They each said yes, enthusiastically. I don’t know these women and yet I am angry that they could be so naïve. But they are fortunate to afford such naiveté. I wish I still had mine. 

In the blog “The Verdict” I wrote about Trudy’s family. Today Trudy’s husband spoke. He has expressive, soulful brown eyes. The anguish he feels for his daughters and his wife resonated throughout the courtroom. He is a victim in this as well. And though I temper anger with him for supporting his wife, as he is her greatest advocate, I also feel as though I understand where he is coming from. Who would believe the person they have dedicated their life to could be capable of something so vile? Who would want to? Likewise, though I’m sure he harbors resentment towards us, I believe that he feels for us and for Noah. There is so much that weighs on him as well, maybe more than I can ever comprehend, even in my most lucid and empathetic moments.

Two families are shattered, a “tragedy” the Judge correctly acknowledged – but a tragedy at the hands of one woman. The jury, back in January, recommended a sentence of ten and a half years. There were moments today when Mike and I feared that she wouldn’t get that sentence. But the court did not let us down. The Judge gave Trudy the full ten and a half years. This sentence doesn’t change our life, and more importantly, it doesn’t change Noah’s. But at least it is an appropriate end to this terrible chapter of this very long story. Tonight, aside from the wakings of our gorgeous newborn boy, we will sleep. Thank God.

After months of dealing with myoclonic seizures, several different medications, three short EEG’s and one, long, terrible EEG, Noah’s final sentence has been handed down: he has been diagnosed as an epileptic, likely never to be taken off strong medications, and with a future that will forever hang in the balance. Should this latest drug not work, we are left with few obvious drug options, something that terrifies Mike and me.

Never for a moment, in the midst of all the recent doctors’ appointments, or while recording the 20 or more head drops in a daily journal, have we forgotten who gave Noah this sentence. Her name is Trudy Munoz Rueda. In January, after testimony that spanned nearly seven full days, she was convicted by a jury of her peers. Some people have questioned whether the jury was truly one of her peers; I assure you it was, as several of the jury members are parents, just as she is. The jury, after giving up nearly two weeks of their lives, convicted Trudy and suggested a sentence of 10.5 years. My family would have loved to see her sentenced to the full 15, but we understand that the jury members deliberated and came to the sentence based on what they saw and heard in court. We will trust in that.

This Friday, April 9th, is the end to this long and heart-wrenching chapter in Noah’s Road. The Judge will take into consideration the jury’s sentence. She will read and hear the victim impact statements that our family has submitted. She will read and hear statements from Trudy’s family. She will make a decision that will dramatically affect two families.

We invite everyone who has grown to love Noah to come to the courthouse to support us in this final stand for justice. Please help to show the Judge how much Noah is loved and how your lives have been affected by his struggles. Noah has already been given a final sentence. It was handed down by Trudy Munoz. Please pray and show support in the hopes that the Judge will give Trudy the maximum sentence. We all know it is far easier than the future Noah has in store.

Final Sentencing Details:

April 9

2:00 PM

Fairfax County Judicial Center

4110 Chain Bridge Road

Fairfax, Virginia 2203

*The courtroom is still unknown, but upon entering, if you give the name Trudy Munoz Rueda, you will be told where to go.

When Noah was rushed to the hospital by ambulance nearly a year ago, on April 20, he was in the midst of a catatonic seizure. The paramedics were unable to get the seizure under control, and it wasn’t until he was in the emergency room at INOVA that the doctors were able to stabilize him. The damage from the shaking was so extensive that seizures ravaged his little body for days. For this reason Noah was put into two separate medically induced comas to allow his brain to rest, with the hope that the seizures might stop. He was hooked up to an EEG and his head was bandaged. As my best friend recently wrote, “He looked like a Frankenstein baby.” It’s true. There was nothing innocent and precious about him anymore; he was tragic, his face pale and his eyes crusted with old tears. Noah was hooked up to the EEG for more than five days. In that period of time we never left his side. Our friends and family learned how to read the EEG, to recognize what a seizure looked like so that they could push the event button should they see one. Sometimes it was obvious when Noah was having a seizure. His eyes rapidly would open wide, but they were vacant. After a minute or two they would close again. It was terrifying to watch. If you look at the pictures we have posted on the site, you can see what Noah looked like then. Every once in a while I will glance through my pictures on my computer and accidentally stumble across one of those old photos from the hospital. It’s hard to imagine that little boy, that lifeless bandaged creature is my baby.

Last week, however, I didn’t need to look at old pictures from a year ago to revisit any of those dark memories. In an effort to get the seizures that Noah continues to have under control, his neurologist ordered a 24-hour video EEG. We checked into Children’s National Medical Center at 1 PM on Wednesday. Noah was in a great mood and had been all day. Though he continued to have head drop seizures – the usual 20 a day – he laughed and smiled, eating snacks while we waited. But hours later that happy toddler was gone. Noah had dozens of leads stuck to his blonde hair with paste and his head was covered with several layers of bandages. A white tube covered his head and the wires hung from the top, connected to a 30-foot wire. Video cameras were positioned in the hospital room so the doctors could watch Noah’s activity as he had seizures that were monitored on the EEG.

Within hours Noah was inconsolable. His face was swollen and red, tearstained. He wouldn’t eat, even though I’d prepared snacks and easy meals that could be microwaved (I didn’t want him to have terrible hospital food). Mike and I tried playing with him, walking with him, holding him and rocking him. He had moments when he’d smile, and in those moments Mike and I could breathe. But for the most part Noah was miserable. We threatened to leave the hospital in the middle of the night because we couldn’t bare him being in so much pain. He hadn’t slept. We hadn’t slept. It was the worst night we’ve experienced since Noah was first released from the hospital.

The next day, after the neurologists had finally reviewed the EEG, Noah’s bandages and the leads were removed. His forehead is now covered in circular scabs from where the leads pushed into his soft skin. Days later, he still has dark circles under his eyes from the lack of sleep that night. The doctors have ordered a different drug, but so far we’ve seen no improvement. This could be because Noah is also still on an old drug. We’re awaiting an official visit with his neurologist to discuss where we go from here. In the meantime, Noah is a zombie. He is so tired. He stands and his eyes involuntarily close on him – this is after a nap, when he should be alert and rested. I’m so terrified of ruining Noah’s incredible palate for food (he’ll eat anything from blue cheese to black olives to salmon) that we’re giving Noah his new drug in chocolate pudding. It’s amazing what a parent will do and what rules they’ll break when desperate to get a drug down their little one’s throat. Noah still doesn’t drink juice, as I believe it’s full of unnecessary sugar, and yet he gets a teaspoon of pudding morning and night now! But I’d rather him learn to hate pudding than something nutritious.

That night in the hospital was so reminiscent of Noah’s stay in the PICU that Mike and I were both emotionally closed off. When we were finally rushing out of the hospital, literally moving as fast as our legs would take us, I broke down. I cried with relief that we were leaving. It felt as though we’d been there a week. Those nights in the PICU a year ago felt as though they were only moments before. Our hearts were raw. They still are.

We will never forget what happened to Noah, but sometimes the pain just never seems to cease, especially when we watch Noah miserable and we are helpless. In so many ways we lost control of Noah’s life when he was shaken; the seizures, and his blonde head wrapped in white bandages while he wails is all too terrible a reminder. But I try to remember, even in bleak moments and through the darkest nights, that we are doing everything we can. We might not have control over our lives, not really, but we are taking each day and seizing it, all to make a better life for Noah. That’s all we can do.

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From Mike:

For those who doubt:  (This is a difficult article to read about yet another case of Child Abuse and SBS)

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/03/29/AR2010032903198.html?hpid=newswell

 Only five days after the trial ended – just enough time to let me rest a little – Avry burst into this world and was placed on my chest screaming. When I looked at him for the first time, this baby with bright pink skin under a silky layer of white, I was in utter shock that he was mine – no, ours. I had worked with Mike to prepare his room, to buy diapers and wipes, and to organize Noah’s old baby clothes. I had felt him kick and roll in my belly for months, but I hadn’t ever taken the time to prepare myself for the avalanche of emotions that would follow after bringing another baby into our small, chaotic life. I was in such denial that day that I was in labor (my contractions were irregular until the end) that I didn’t even give Noah the million kisses I should have. Mike practically pushed me out the door, my hospital bag in tow – which I had only just packed – and only four hours later Avry was stretched across me. That night, as Mike was home getting some much-deserved rest, I curled into Avry as he snored next to me. I didn’t sleep much. I just kissed his pale yellow head, feeling the red, downy hair beneath my lips. In the darkness of that hospital room, taking in the scent of my new son, I felt something I’d almost forgotten: joy.

 My entire stay at the hospital felt like a vacation. As I lay in bed all day, my food was brought to me. There were no courtrooms, no lawyers; there wasn’t the face of woman who I had trusted so many, many months ago. The sun shone into my room and everyone who visited beamed with happiness, not the weight of heartache. No one felt the need to tread lightly around me. My baby cooed and hiccupped, burped and breastfed. He was new, new and perfect.

 But my experience with perfection is flawed: someone shook the perfection right out of my first Noah. And once I was home with Avry, the winds of our chaotic life nearly blew me over, my short-lived bliss rushing right out the door. The first night we were home, two Peruvian journalists rang our doorbell, wanting an interview. Unfortunately, Mike had answered the door and I had to pull him back into the house without letting him say a word; nothing he could ever say to them would make a difference. The Peruvian community has made up their mind about us. After they left, as Mike sat stewing next to me, I held Avry and bawled. The simple joy of bringing my baby home was tarnished.

 In the weeks that followed that turbulent first night home, I have watched in amazement as Avry smiles and laughs in his sleep, weeks before he will be able to do so while awake; and I have cried and buried my head in my hands as I watched Noah have 30 seizures in one day. I have tickled Avry’s tiny, pink toes; and I have sprinted across the room to catch Noah, with crocodile tears streaming down his face, after he has fallen, either from tripping on his own feet while walking or from a seizure knocking the balance right out of him. It is terrifying to watch, utterly helpless, as Noah suffers. It is hard to know he wasn’t born that way, but he was born perfect like Avry.

In the midst of one of the snowiest winters that Virginia has seen in nearly a century, I am buried under a mountain, struggling to balance the light and the dark, the good and the bad. I am ready for the snow to melt and the weight to be lifted. There are times when I have wanted to bury myself into the snow and hibernate. But no matter what, when I awake, nothing will have changed. I will still have a husband who loves so deeply and fiercely that he can sometimes barely breathe because he aches so much for Noah; I will still have the most gentle-spirited son, a boy who I love more each second of every day, a boy who has seizures and is developmentally delayed because he was shaken by his daycare provider; and I will still have my wrinkly and beautiful new baby, still untouched by the cruelties of this world, thank God.

 I would be remiss if I closed on such a somber note, because I still believe in our future. This has been a terrible winter, with inches upon inches of oppressive snow burying us in our houses, and the cities around us nearly shutting down. But warmer days will come. The snow will melt and we will trudge through the mud. Once the mud dries and the air smells of the early blooming daffodils and tulips, life will become a little sweeter. I believe this is also true for my Noah and for my family. We will get these seizures under control; we will not rest until we do. And someday the four of us will be barefoot on a beach, laughing and romping through the surf. We will find joy. And we will hold onto it tightly.

Noah has a little brother….  A blog will be here shorlty.

God Bless You All.

Last Monday, nine months after our daycare provider admitted to shaking my happy, innocent baby and forever altering each of our families’ lives, we began the long and tedious process of the criminal trial. In total, testimony lasted for five full days, with closing statements finishing up this morning. Though I sat in a small witness room outside the courtroom for more than 90% of the trial, Mike and the rest of our family sat in anguish as they listened to both the prosecution and the defense experts’ and witness’ testimonies. From my little room with bare white walls, I watched my mom and Mike’s mom rush from the courtroom to the bathroom to cry; I heard the faint voice of Trudy testifying on the stand, unable to hear the words she was saying about my son; and each night over the last two weeks, collectively, we have barely slept. Quite simply, we have been shackled with anxiety, exhaustion and fear.

Though we knew a conviction wouldn’t change our daily struggles, and certainly, a conviction won’t heal our fighting angel, we have understood from the beginning the gravity of this court case: it is not only about justice for Noah, it is about setting a precedent for all cases in which a defendant is charged with shaking a baby. It is about protecting and fighting for the infants who have no voice.

I write tonight from my bedroom, Mike and our family downstairs, and Noah asleep – no doubt drained from the emotional turbulence that has rattled his world for the last couple weeks. I write with a heavy heart but with a great weight lifted off my shoulders: the jury has convicted Trudy Munoz Rueda on both charges lobbied against her.

The first phase of justice for Noah is complete. Sentencing will follow. Because we have fought so hard and so long for this, and because my son deserves justice – as does every victim of SBS and abusive head trauma – I am at peace, finally. And yet, I must temper my emotions. Shortly after the verdict, I witnessed Trudy’s daughter cry, her father consoling her. A beautiful 13-year-old girl watched as her mother was convicted of nearly killing my son. Her world, just like ours, has been shaken and shattered. My son deserves justice, and God willing, he will get the full extent of it when Trudy is sentenced, but in the interim and into the future, the fact remains that two worlds were destroyed on April 20th.

We lost the baby we once knew, though we thank God every single day that he is still here with us, that he can laugh, that he can wrap his arms around us and pull us tight. But Trudy’s children have lost the mother they knew. That’s the thing about Shaken Baby Syndrome and the people who commit this atrocious crime; they aren’t inherently evil people. Mothers and fathers confess and are convicted of this child abuse even more than daycare providers. Mike and I know this, as will our son when he can someday understand what was stolen from him. After today, Trudy’s daughters also know this.

By sharing Noah’s story and by educating yourself and your friends about Shaken Baby Syndrome, you are not only doing your part of saving the fragile, innocent lives of babies, but you are ensuring that no previously happy family will be ripped apart because of a moment of sheer desperation and cruelty.

Of course we can’t disclose any details about the trial, but I wanted to let everyone know that the trial is continuing next Wednesday the 20th at 9 AM in room 4J of the Fairfax County Courthouse. It will likely last the remainder of next week. We’re exhausted, but have our hearts fully committed to this fight. If you want to come support us, you are still welcome.

Justice for Noah!

Please understand that as a family we are hurting and have been hurting since April 20. The trajectory of our son’s future was altered swiftly, and his innocence was taken from him. I know that over the last nine months my husband and I have shared the myriad emotions we have gone through with the thousands of people who have read our site. Of course we are angry. We are heartbroken. We confront hatred and try to suppress it every day; that is a simple truth that I think many parents can understand.

However, Noah’s Road was also created to harness love, support, and prayers, and with the overall dream (yes, sometimes it feels like only a dream) of having our son completely healed. It’s been a long road already, and yet it has just begun. It will continue for the rest of our lives, but more importantly, for the rest of Noah’s life. We are selfish, sure, in that we continually ask for prayers and well wishes to heal our son. We are desperate for it.

But we are not desperate in any way for Noah’s Road to become a forum of nasty words and name-calling. How can that help our child – or any other victim of Shaken Baby Syndrome? We look at Noah smile and hope only for joy in his life, for light and compassion.

Thank you for reading about Noah’s story. It’s an important story. But please don’t use Noah’s Road as a medium to express your hatred or anger to the woman who we believe in our hearts has done this to him. Please also don’t use this forum to express your hatred to my husband or me for believing she is guilty, or for asking for prayers for our son. All cruel comments will be deleted.

Sincerely,

Erin Whitmer

To those of you interested in attending the trial is set for January 11 until the 13th, with the verdict hopefully being called on Thursday the 14th; here is the address:

Fairfax County Judicial Center

4110 Chain Bridge Road

Fairfax, Virginia 22030

Room J4

The courtroom is open and large, you may come and go as you please, but only if you do it quietly.

We are asking that those people who come to support us, but mostly to support Noah, dress appropriately. We believe the courtroom should be treated with respect. Anyone wearing a shirt that has any profanity or images of Noah will likely not be allowed into the courtroom, as it can be argued that it will taint the jury.

Thank you, all of you, who have continued to support us. Thank you more than we can even say for the number of prayers you have said for our dear boy. As I write this, Noah is asleep beside me. We are sleeping together, as his newest anti-seizure drug is making him sick, just another reason my heart breaks every day, and we are seeking justice next week.

My apologies, again, for not keeping up with the blog. The holidays are a crazy time for everyone, but in the midst of holiday chaos, I also finished my thesis – I am now an MFA – and both Noah and Mike had a birthday. It’s so hard to believe our fighting angel is now a year old. He enjoyed his birthday cupcake, though thanks to the sugar, he refused to go to bed that night! This year has flown, a year with more ups and downs than I ever thought possible. Mike and I are humbled by the love we have for our son, and we are even more humbled to be loved by him in return.

Unfortunately, Mike and I are also preparing for trial. Though the case has been continued three times – each time more frustrating than the last – the date is finally approaching. Now, with the trial only two weeks away, we are inundated with thoughts of justice, truth, and hopefully, closure for this one chapter in our long, long journey. We are anxious and frightened. We are determined that the truth be known. My Noah deserves no less. As we all know, he deserves so much more.

The trial is scheduled for Monday, January 11th, and we expect it to last three days. It will be held at the Fairfax County Courthouse in Fairfax, Virginia. We encourage our faithful prayer warriors to attend the trial and show your support for Noah. Should you not be able to attend, we ask only that you continue to pray for Noah. Pray for justice. But more than anything, pray for him to heal (his eyes and his brain), so that regardless of what happens in a Virginia courtroom, Noah might again have the future he was born with.