The Appointment

Although I very seriously considered not going to my postpartum appointment, I pulled myself together the best that I could and got myself to the office. I thought my heart may stop, it was beating so fast. I couldn't see straight, I couldn't find my voice. When I spoke to the receptionist, it was barely more than a whisper.
They sent me straight back in to the room. I'm not sure if it was because they had an empty room or because they didn't want to make me sit there with all the other happy pregnant women. Then the thoughts floated around in my head. They probably didn't want someone to ask me about my pregnancy and have me tell them that my baby didn't make it. They probably didn't want me ruining the happiness of those pregnant women. Wouldn't want me planting any sad ideas in their head.
Logically, I know this isn't true. If they were rushing me into a room it was for me, so I would be more comfortable...the logical part of my brain is on vacation though.
When I walked back to the room (room #12) I walked past the other receptionist, the one that was rude to me. I walked past several nurses and a few people I had never seen before. They all knew who I was, I could tell because they all stared at me. It wasn't just a glance as I walked by, it was that stupid stare that I hate. That look of pity that isn't really sincere, but people don't know what else to do.
I stared at the floor, glancing up at the doors quickly to read the number. I avoided eye contact so that they didn't have to feel the obligation to actually SAY something to me.
When I found room 12 I went in and I sat down. I played with my sweater sleeves. I tried not to look around. My heart continued at a pace I didn't know could last so long. I tried not to look around the room. I told myself to keep staring at my sleeves, keep playing with the sweater, don't look up, don't look around, don't cry, BREATHE.
The nurse came in and I wondered if she lost the coin toss, this was how she ended up having to deal with me. I had met her when I was pregnant with Dayne and I always really liked her. She was kind and funny and she made the office more pleasant. My view of her was different on this day. It's funny how people have the ability to deal with certain things REALLY well and other things, not so much. She tried hard to be kind and caring, but that smile that she always wore, it didn't leave her face and made her words seem fake. I wanted to yell at her "WHY ARE YOU SMILING??" But I know it's just the way she is, that smile is because she's a happy person, it's always there, she probably isn't even aware of it.
She asked me a few questions, the usual "How are you doing?" "It's so hard, I know, are you getting therapy?" I barely spoke, my voice was still gone and now I could hardly choke the words out without crying. The conversation was shorter than it felt, I'm sure. Eventually she was leaving the room, telling me to get ready for my exam. So I stripped down and sat there waiting. I had taken my sweater off, so I had no more sleeves to distract me. I looked around the room. I KNEW it was a bad idea, but I did it anyway. My breath was catching in my chest and I could feel myself on the verge of hyperventilating. BREATHE.
When the doctor came in she said "How are you doing?" and I cried. I couldn't hold it in any more. She was really nice to me and answered all of my questions. I had been waiting to ask some things about the cord. How did the knot get there? Had it been there for a long time? Could they have seen it if they did an ultrasound? Did she suffocate? Did she starve? Was this something that happened quickly or did she suffer? These questions were hard, and I almost couldn't ask, but I HAVE to know.
She asked me some questions about subsequent pregnancies, she answered my questions and asked about how I've been sleeping, but she didn't offer any advice as to how to sleep more. She did the exam and gave me the paperwork from the hospital about their "findings" There was no autopsy. We had decided that there would be no autopsy if the cause of death was obvious, and it was. The paper basically said that everything was normal, but there was a knot in the cord. I already knew that, but it was heartbreaking to get that paperwork.
When everything was finished, I couldn't get out of there fast enough. It was way too hard. My mind was floating in a cloud, my heart was still pounding. I needed to get home, to get away from everyone and cry. I needed just a few moments to myself. And when I finally was alone, I completely broke down.
I wish it wasn't this hard. I wish I had my daughter.