weekly?

When I first lost my baby, I was writing every day. I was also reading every day about other mothers from around the world on the same path. I found a blog of a woman who lost a baby the same as me... at full term, and the only problem they could find was a two vessel cord. I know lots of people who had two vessel cords and their babies are just fine... that alone should not be considered a cause of death. But I read through her blog to see if there was anything her doctors told her that led them to believe the 2VC was the cause. It wasn't. She had also already had her 2nd baby... he was about 9 months old in the last entry she made... and over a year had passed since then. She wasn't writing any more. I remember a friend saying "well Beth, don't you look forward to the day you won't have to write any more?"

I haven't written here in over a week. I don't know if that is a sign that I'm feeling better, that I have nothing to say, and/or that I'm just a broken record. Even the broken record is breaking, because I know I've said that before. My baby died. For no reason. I'm devastated. I don't blame God. People say stupid things. People do wonderful things. I want another one, even though it won't be her. John is grieving differently. I can't believe this is so common. I can't believe I was so stupid. Repeat repeat repeat, etc, etc, etc, blah blah blah, it's the same story over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again. I can write it a thousand times and I still don't think I will believe it. My baby died?! My healthy baby?! The day before she was due?! What?! Say that again?! That can't possibly true! This is 2009! This is the United States! Babies haven't died like this since the Victorian ages! She was fine 2 days ago! WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!

Maybe I am starting to accept it a little bit... I guess I only need to replay it every week instead of every day. I also haven't read about anyone else in over a week which means I have probably 10 hours of reading to do, because normally it's over an hours worth per day. I have a large pile of books that hardly ever get opened because I'd much rather read the live feed of blogs coming in from other mothers repeating themselves too. They don't believe it either.

I got frustrated with one of the respiratory staff at work because I was worried about a patient, but she was insisting that he was ok... she wouldn't come check on him right then, because she said she had just been in there, but I knew she was lying because his chart said she had given him his breathing medication an hour earlier. That's not "just been in there." They can change within minutes. The reason she didn't want to come in his room? She was busy looking on babiesRus.com. She was 37 weeks pregnant. With a girl, of course. She was looking on the site at a pink fancy pacifier that was currently out of stock. I wanted to smack her upside the head. There are no guarantees you know! I was in your spot 7 months ago! Looking at sold out pink pacis! I was a big idiot thinking that maybe after she was born, that sweet pink paci would look so cute in her mouth, if it comes back in stock. Aw, I hope she takes a paci. Dream dream dream. Plan plan plan. And then WHAM! I got smacked upside the head. Over and over and over and over. Apparently, for 6 months, I got slammed every day. Now only once a week? Hah. I wish.

I was honestly mad that she wouldn't come check on the patient because you're not supposed to be online at work. But now I'm worried about her, because one of our patients has a contagious disease that is not recommended for pregnant healthcare workers to be around, and we didn't know he had it at first. I also showed some photos that night to a nurse I hadn't seen since my return to work. But I made sure she wasn't around, I didn't want to freak her out. Deep down, I wanted her to come upon us in the middle, just so she has a little bit of a clue (unlike I did at 37 weeks, SMACK!). My story usually inspires people to love their children just that much more. Take a few extra pictures of that sweet girl with the highly coveted pink fancy pacifier. I'm sure in a few weeks, I'll hear that her baby is just fine, healthy, clueless.

I made a status update the other day about being sensitive to facebook because of all the baby pictures and status updates. But it doesn't make a difference really. I could delete facebook and there are still babies and clueless people everywhere. I had a few people (ok, only 2) write to me privately with a sort of apology for upsetting me. This was not necessary. My issues about babies abound is just that.. MINE. It has nothing to do with anyone else. There is absolutely no obligation for anyone to hold back for my sake, or to apologize for it. (Although it did feel nice when they did apologize, necessary or not, they were sweet.) My argument is this: I should be able to talk about my dead baby, post her pictures, as freely as I want, and if you have a problem with that, just don't look at it. Your discomfort at my baby is not my problem, it's yours. It goes the other way too. My sensitivity to your children isn't your problem. You have a right to discuss and display them freely, so pleae don't feel bad when I make comments about being sad or sensitive or angry. It's just the way it is, it's how I'm going to feel. I also think that people's children should absolutely be 100% of their focus. I get just as angry when people DON'T pay attention to their children or fawn over them. If you wanted to be a parent, do it all the way.

There's no pleasing me, eh?

I guess that's about it. I know I still have to write the rest of Kathlyn's birth story. Maybe then I will believe it's true? I don't think so. No matter how many times it plays in my head, I write about it, the freight train, jet plane, helicopter blades, and semi-truck run into me with it, the great white shark, velociraptor, and grizzly bear attack rip and tear what's left of me from the inside out, I still will not believe that this happened to my precious Kathlyn Joy Davis, and I still will not believe that I survived such harsh trauma to tell about it.