The day that I was in the hospital delivering my second dead baby, there was a woman in emergency with an ectopic pregnancy that required surgery. She had, according to my very chatty doctor, been given medical permission to travel from Chicago despite the obvious mass in her abdomen. My doctor said, "Some doctors just ASK to get sued." All I could think about was my first dead baby and I so badly wanted to say, "Yeah...but s/he'll probably get away with it. Justice is blind and stupid, you know."
While I was laboring to deliver Travis, there was a woman experiencing a stillbirth in the room next door. I so badly wanted to reach out and tell her that she would make it. But then I remembered this was my second dead baby and she probably wouldn't want to hear it from me.
Today while planning to request a stillbirth certificate for second dead baby, my sweet Travis, I was looking online for the address of the hospital where he was delivered. I stumbled across the hospital's online nursery. The masochist in me couldn't not look. Three babies...one boy and two girls...born on the very same day Travis was born silently. Four babies born the day before...the day I knew Travis was dead. Seven babies brought into the world...in the same place...on two of the most horrible days of my life. There's a balance of power in there somewhere that I'm struggling to accept.
There was no post from me yesterday because I spent all my spare time working on my house renovation plans. The distraction seems to be working. I need some space between me and the sadness. Even if it is artificial and I know the sadness will return, the respite that the distraction brings is enough for my mental well-being right now. The only difficult part was designing the empty bedroom. But even that wasn't too difficult, because I can imagine one mother of a craft room in it's place.
This morning I told my husband that I'm getting frustrated that my ankle isn't healed already. I've always been an impatient sort, so he chuckled at my statement. But the truth is that this, right now, is no good for me. I can't DO a lot of things I would normally do to distract myself. When Alex died, I remember I got a piece of advice from Clara Hinton, author of Silent Grief. She told me that even though it sounded hokey, I needed to go for a walk. Get away from the grief for a bit. Enjoy the sunshine on my face and the breeze in the trees. And it DID sound hokey...but I was desparate, so I tried it...and it worked. I could feel the normalcy of life surround me when I went for a walk or worked in my garden. I could feel the balance restore itself for that brief time before I had to steel myself for the onslaught of emotions I would feel upon going to work in the morning, or returning to a babyless home in the evening. So right now, with this ankle, the problem is that all I can do is sit and THINK...about all the things that should be different...about all the bittersweet memories...about all the horrible memories...about the jealousy and rage, the sadness and anger, the frustration and hurt. It's no good for me.
I'll have to work on the house plans some more before I show you. But I think I'm going to love it when it's done. The jacuzzi tub would be fabulous right about now to help recuperate from this fractured ankle. I'd probably just sit there and stew and think about all the twists and turns that landed me there...just like I'm doing now...but at least there would be bubbles and soothing warm water.