Tuesday, January 22, 2008

It began on a Thursday.

We had ham that night, cooked in the slow cooker. It was a decent enough meal, but I didn't have the energy to clean it all up. The slow cooker pot went into the sink, to "soak" until morning.

I snoozed on the couch, half-watching TV. My husband did some overtime in the basement. It had been a long and somewhat disappointing week. We had a few little thrills of worry - the Thursday before had brought us a questionable BPP (no breathing movements). But maybe the baby was just a late bloomer, no big deal, really. We saw the OB on Monday, another questionable BPP. Long NST. All good. No reason to induce. We saw the high risk OB on Tuesday. His tech saw the breathing movements. No worries. Go home for birthday cake.

My day had been long. We saw our GP in the morning, nice FHR around 150. No dilation - so disappointing. I "worked", which meant cleaning out my office for my replacement. Went for long coffee breaks and gleefully answered "no baby yet?" questions. So, so, SO normal.

I went to sleep for the night in the nursery, where we had set up an air mattress that was easier on my SI joint while I slept. Before I closed my eyes, I read my mom's 25 year old copy of The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding. So dull, really.

I awoke to an odd sensation around midnight. I tossed and turned for a while. I didn't know I was going into labour. I didn't know the turn my life was going to take.

I didn't know.

It's so hard to think about those days - those few days before the world exploded. And yet I have been living with those what ifs as I dealt with these anniversary days. These birth/death days.

I have to write it here: what if I had pushed the OB to induce on that Monday night those 3 years ago? would she have listened? would she have cared what I said? what if my opportunity was there and I let it slip by so unknowingly?

Those questions don't rip me apart with pain anymore. But they are there. I don't know if they will ever leave. They are always there.

12 comments:

MB said...

I don't think my questions will ever leave. You're right...they hurt less. But they are always there.

Thinking of you...

Julia said...

I am so sorry. The one thing I was spared in this experience is the whatifs. I can't even imagine how terrible they must feel. I am sorry.

kate said...

Yeah, i have them too, and i don't think they will ever leave.

Sarah said...

I have similar what ifs... I'm so sorry you have them at all and that you are reliving them so vividly right now...

niobe said...

How terribly, terribly sad to think of the last "normal" days, hours, moments.

Rosepetal said...

Ditto ditto ditto. ((hugs))

Monica said...

Me too. I go there when the house is quiet. I'll be the first in line when they invent the time machine.

Samantha said...

The haunting "what ifs"- sigh...
I think new ones pop up every week for me.

Can I ask what BPP (breathing movements) are?

Be easy on yourself.hugs

pipsylou said...

I don't think they will ever leave; I just think you are better at handling them now. You know, one thing I have learned about questioning decisions made in the past is this: in my mind, the alternative is always better. For example, what if you had asked to be induced 3 days earlier, and something else happened then, and BOTH you and C died? My point is that our alternate realities are always "better" in our minds than what was actually experienced. It never occurs to us that the alternate could have even been worse. Does this make sense? Shrink Lady introduced me to this idea. :)

Ruby said...

I'm so sorry.

You said it so well;
"Those questions don't rip me apart with pain anymore. But they are there. I don't know if they will ever leave. They are always there."

delphi said...

Samantha - the BPP was a bio-physical profile ultrasound. Of the 4 markers that are checked for, C. did not exhibit the practice breathing movements.

Julie said...

((hugs)) Those damn what if's. Yeah, I still have them too. I'm sorry.