So, for Christmas, I thought I'd torture myself.
(You may want to just skip this one if your tolerance is low, or if you're in a really good mood.)
Here's a link I used as the instrument of torture. NOTE: it's not for the squeamish
According to this text book, cranial sutures overlap around 96 hours after fet@l death, or 4 to 5 days, it says.
Collapse of the skull happens around 1 week after.
It gets worse, but I'll spare you.
So, it's no wonder my cervix was twitchy. I had a dead baby inside me for at least 4 or 5 days when my water broke.
The ultrasound reports from the university hospital used terms like "collapsed cranial sutures" and "overlapping cranial sutures." And there was no fluid around him to speak of.
I almost asked my stupid ob for an ultrasound when I had my regular appointment. When my dad was visiting. Both because I felt, oh, like I was a different shape than I had been, and wouldn't it be awesome for him to see his grandsons? He got to hear the heartbeats. That would be good, I thought.
Stupid OB brought a tape measure with him (as I was about 18w 3d at that appointment, with twins), but he didn't use it. The first heartbeat was easy to find. The second took a couple of tries. There was a 10 beats per minute difference in the heart rate that day.
Similar to the day my water broke. I started to breathe a sigh of relief, but then, Dr. Coldfish shook his head, No, that's an echo of the first one...
Denial Denial Denial...
The night before my dad came to visit (the day before my appointment), I was up til almost 3 grading. And then I couldn't sleep. And then the nausea (which had been fading) seemed to come back, especially on my way to go pick him up at the airport. I made myself puke a little, but it didn't help. Nothing seemed to help. I tried to nap when we got home -- we were all tired -- but I couldn't. I dozed for maybe half an hour after getting almost no sleep the night before.
I took some tyle.nol pm or bened.ryl to help me sleep. It did, but a little bit.
Only a couple days later did I realize I had probably had a panic attack. I had had a few before.
There's nothing really to say.
I need to let it go. I need to remind myself I did the best I could, even if that wasn't very good at all. I need to remember that I didn't get very good care, and was not up to advocating for it, apparently.
I need to forgive myself and let go.
In many ways I have. I usually do.
I guess I still have a little ways to go. It's anniversaries that make it hard.
Still seems so much like a dream.
And I guess I was right. One of those terrible days, sitting in my hospital gown. Well, I that's it. There goes our one chance.
At least it feels like it today.