**This is going to be ugly and a little graphic. Possibly not suitable for all viewers. **
Got the records from the hospital today.
The ones from the initial consult and from the delivery. It was probably...200 pages, doctor's notes, nurses notes, ultrasound and blood test results. Not too bad.
Of course I read them. How could I not.
Part of today was kind of good. It was up and down at school, but ended mostly up. Well, more up than down. Relatively. Up enough that I thought, okay, this will be hard, but I can read this. I want to see what happened, according to the records. It wasn't too bad, at first. Much of it was just as I recalled. But.
Some holes should not be filled.
Patient found to have delivered infant. + cardiac activity...
Jacob was born alive.
On the records, the time noted was more than 20 minutes after the time of birth/death noted on the infant bereavement record. How did they know what time he was born? Did they guess? Did they lie? Was a nurse there for delivery? What happened in the 23 minutes between the so-called time of "birth" and the doctor entering the room?
Did my child lie there dying, on my bed, between my legs -- alone -- for 20 minutes while I was oblivious?
When did they tell me it was time to push? Who was it? Which child? It's like a freaking nightmare.
And I don't know if I can ever forgive myself.
Spent some time talking with C, who clarified some things for me. Events and their sequence. There were nurses with me, one went to get the doctor. We were told the boys did not survive birth, but no one mentioned any cardiac activity, so I don't know if it was a few moments or minutes or what. C was focused on me and he was not prepared to see them, certainly not while I was not "present."
Turns out I really have very little memory of that night, even less than I thought. C said that I worked really hard to deliver the boys. It wasn't just a few pushes (I only remember the first one or two). It's really just glimpses for me. Like a dream. Really, a nightmare.
C thinks a lot of why I passed out, and he passed out was just sheer, physical exhaustion. It's hard for me to believe. I don't remember. Perhaps physical on top of emotional exhaustion. Doesn't really matter. I was still not present.
I hate not knowing. I hate that I wasn't able to be present for my sons. I hate... well... I hate all of it.
But you knew that. And you know it.
Good to know that I'm not alone. It's a start.