A different kind of list today, an antilululist of sorts.
FFS #1: Got a call from the NICU social worker today to set up a meeting to go over pathology and autopsy...And yes, this is a meeting we need to have. We have a lot of unanswered questions. Otis was without oxygen for 90 seconds in his shoulder dystocia, but everyone we've spoken with (both at the hospital and outside of the hospital) agrees this shouldn't be enough to cause fatal brain damage. My placenta was small but not small enough to cause fatal brain damage. My baby was big...and I knew he was big...and I asked repeatedly at prenatal appointments if anyone was concerned about how big he was and they kept saying no. But they never even did a fucking growth u/s after 20 weeks. (I know, I know, they are notoriously inaccurate. And I would've been upset if they had tried to push me into a c-section, most likely.) And yet, he was huge, as I knew he was going to be. Too big for my pelvis to birth. Why did they take off the monitors in those last five minutes when they had me holding to wait for the doctor to do the catch? And if I hadn't had to wait for the doctor to do the catch, would he have lived? Was it in those five minutes that we lost him? Was his cord compressed before the dystocia as well? Today my mindset is saying that I should be researching attorneys and getting a lawyer to attend this meeting with us. I know that nothing can bring my baby back, but more and more I am thinking that they seriously effed things up in those last minutes of my delivery.
FFS #2: Last night's dinner delivery was from a couple from our childbirth class. I knew they were coming, I expected them to come, and I even thought I was going to be okay seeing their 8 week old son. They were enormously considerate, left the baby in the car and were ready to just drop off the food but we invited them in. I really thought I wanted to see them and wanted to meet their baby. I haven't been so wrong about assuming something would be okay for me in a while. I was absolutely destroyed. His hands, his lips, his squishy perfect little arms -- they reminded me so much of Otis, so much of what we don't get to have, so much of what we lost. I fumbled for words, reeling as soon as I saw him. I felt like I was going to pass out. I felt like I was going to throw up. I stumbled awkwardly. I stuck my foot in my mouth. I tried to stay composed. I probably should have just started screaming like I wanted to. I tried to signal E that I needed to get the hell out of that situation, but I couldn't get him to read my mind. It was awful.
FFS #3: The new elliptical is having issues. I got on it today in hopes of pounding out some of my stress, and the damn thing started this clinkety clinking sound that had me yelling profanities loudly at it ten minutes into the workout. I tried to schedule service for it - but I can't get the damn serial number because it requires me to lift the behemoth and turn it over onto its side.
FFS #4: The elementary school had their Halloween parade this morning and we are right on their parade route. I thought that looking out the window might cheer me up. Umm, second horrible assumption gone wrong in less than 24 hours. I saw all the adorables in their adorable costumes, and then saw like 5 moms holding young babies in adorable costumes, and just started howling. I should be holding my Otis in his adorable bat costume that we bought five days before I went into labor. I should NOT be scheduling meetings to go over his autopsy.
FFS #5: Oh, and last night in the mail I got my hospital bill for my postpartum stay and Otis's stay at the NICU. They are trying to charge me an extra day because they say I was discharged at midnight so they charge for the extra day. Umm, I was discharged at midnight because I spent six hours that afternoon/evening holding my son as he lay dying in my arms, not thinking about completing discharge paperwork but THEY SHOULD HAVE BEEN and then when I asked for discharge paperwork to be completed at 10 PM (and I have discharge paperwork with a 10pm timestamp on it) but it took them two hours to "find a wheelchair" to wheel me out of the hospital (even though I had been walking around for two days at that point.) Apparently the wheelchair BS was a way to keep me there until midnight so they could charge me for an additional day of hospitalization? Bogus. Beyond bogus. Trust me, they have already gotten an earful from me. And I know some of this is displaced anger, anger that I didn't wheel out of there with my healthy baby boy, but I also think I have the right to be angry that someone didn't flag my file with "umm let's finetooth comb this one because we should probably be super cautious and respectful with them right now..." Even the NICU social worker that I spoke with today told me that it was BS and she'd see if she could speak to people in the business office to get it resolved.
FFS #6: Our effing doula had the nerve to try to refriend me on FB today. Umm, I dropped you for a reason, lady. I didn't want to continue to see all your effing stupid BS postings about how beautiful and successful all the births you attend are and I certainly didn't want your voyeuristic eyes spying on my recovery process (or as much of it as you can see from FB, that is.) I saw your damn page once and all it said about our birth was that it was long. Fess up, our baby DIED. You were there. Own it. I don't care if it looks bad for business.
She hasn't made any effort to reach out to us since the birth - probably a good thing since she'd get an earful and a half from me - but a friend request on FB (after I "unfriended" her, even!) is just about the stupidest most dysfunctional way of reaching out (from her) that I can think of. No note, no card, no message - just a fucking friend request. You are not my friend, lady. I will never forgive you for some of the shit you tried to pull with me during my labor. Do NOT think I want you on my facebook page. EVER.
I am so mad. So sad. Shattered and devastated today. I keep bursting into tears and screaming profanities into the air. I am so so so angry that I don't have my boy with me. Angry at the hospital, angry at the doula, angry at the world today. Angry at the mamas out there with their damn ladybug babies and damn pumpkin babies and damn bumblebees and damn bats. Angry that their biggest worry this weekend is whether their child should be an elephant or an owl. Angry that they're all over facebook, out in front of my house, everyfuckingwhere I go.
I am also really scared because every time I hit a low like this, it freaks E out and he gets so worried about me, and then usually within 24 to 36 hours he hits a similar level of devastation himself...
I know it will pass. The waves pass. I'm just stuck under a really powerful one today.