I hate Tuesdays

It felt like my heart was ripped out all over again today, if that is possible.  I had my 6-week follow-up appointment with my OB today (exactly 7 weeks to the day that I delivered my Son stillborn) and had a full on panic attack sitting alone in the room waiting for him to come in.  I seriously considered running out, fuck it, I don't need to get answers, I dont need to make sure I'm healing, I don't even need to put my fucking clothes back on, just get me the fuck out of this room where I sat for 9 1/2 months and heard my son's heartbeat and chitchatted about the silly little pregnancy concerns I had.  Now, I sat in the room, with no baby in tow for my OB to admire, just my heart wrenching despair and uncontrollable sobs.  The office was eerily quiet, I was literally the only one there, I was expecting to be swarmed by pregnant women and have to deal with that, but I was the only one.  It's like they cleared out the office for me, or maybe for the sake of the other women.  Don't let them see this broken, lifeless woman the horrible reminder that their babies aren't safe.  I am the dead baby plague.

I got answers though and will have to update Silas's story.  I am not sure how to process the information that I received today.  I can't really even start the absorb it.  It's an answer, but is that good or bad.  My doctor told me that Silas had a heart beat the peaked back up to a healthy range between my contractions up until the last five minutes.  In that last five minutes he was crowning and too far into the birth canal to really monitor.  However, from reviewing the heart monitor report with his colleagues the only answer they can come up with for what happened is that maybe that strong heartbeat they saw in those last moments was actually mine and not Silas's.  He said they can't be sure, but that's the only possible reason.  His autopsy report showed that he was a perfectly healthy baby, heart, lungs, brain all perfect.  I had a perfect son and I suffocated him inside me.  Dammit!  Why?  In just five minutes….Who ever thought a five minute time span could destroy your life.  I carried him for 9 1/2 months and in the last five fucking minutes before I would hold my precious baby in my arms and hear his cries and see his perfect beautiful eyes (that I think were a beautiful blue like his mommas) he died.  THE LAST FIVE FUCKING MINUTES!!!!  Really, did that really happen to me?  In five minutes my whole life, dreams, hopes were crushed.  What kind of cruel trick is that?  What does it mean?  It is sooo sooo hard not to go to such a dark, self blaming, self hating place.  And, honestly, I sit there a lot these days.  I am so angry!!!

Okay, I am clearly starting to process this as I write.  I am angry, so fucking angry.  What sort of God, universe would do this?  How can I be given something so precious, something I love so intensely, so deeply with all of my being just to have him taken away? How do you live once he is taken away?  I don't want to be here without my baby!  He was my life, my everything and he was stolen from me.  Whoa, okay…I think I have to end this for now.  This is too hard.