I spent the rest of the night just lying there, staring at the ceiling and the whole thing finally hit me. I never thought it would be possible to feel this much pain. Compared to this utter sense of loss and desperation, all the physical pain from the night before was nothing. All I could think was 'I want my baby' but I knew how impossible that was and it tore me up inside.
Around 7 AM they came in to change the sheets and then I was alone again for a couple of hours. When they came in with breakfast I was crying again and took a lot of self control to be able to say anything. But from that point on people kept coming and going so I just shut down again.
The doctor came in to examine me and I asked if they were going to release me today as I had been told yesterday. He said no, I had to stay for 48 hours, which meant another night. I was pretty upset about that because I just felt I needed to go home and start confronting things - I felt the need to put all the baby things away and start dealing with what happened and what I'm going to do next instead of being surrounded by stuff that reminds me of all the plans I had and how I'm never going to have that now.
The other thing I became sure of was that I need to try again. I went through the beginning and the end in less than a year and I need all the stuff in between that I'm not allowed to have now. I don't want to replace the baby - I could never do that - but I have all these feeling and needs that I have to find a way of expressing and that can only be fulfilled by actually having a baby that I can take care of.
I kept saying that I was never going to go through another pregnancy, but after a result like this all those discomforts seem laughable. I'd go through ten times that to have my baby be alive right now.
The worst part is that I did everything right - all the exams, followed all the recommendations - there was nothing anyone could have done to prevent this from happening. But I still feel guilty - maybe if I had set a date for the delivery instead of waiting. The baby wasn't descending and I started walking everyday to make him descend and it ended up killing him. I thought I was doing the right thing and all I did was make it worse. How can I live with that?
I know there was no way I could have known but that doesn't matter. It makes no difference and it doesn't hurt any less.
After realising they were not going to let me leave I went to have a shower and change into my own clothes and prepare to sit and wait for another whole day.
The weather had changed. It was cloudy and there was a little rain. It felt appropriate somehow.
Pedro and my mother were with me all day again. My in-laws were out taking care of the funeral. We opted for cremation. I couldn't bare to think of the baby decomposing slowly underground. I have too much of an imagination and it wouldn't feel over. The funeral was set for sunday morning. I said I'd prefer it if people didn't go because I don't think I can face it with lots of people around trying to make me feel better. I'd end up worrying about everyone else and trying to keep myself under control and that would just make the whole thing unbearable.
Another doctor came by in the afternoon and this one said that if everything was OK till 7 PM they would let me out. I think basically my mother talked to him and said she would take responsibility or something like that. So he went to deal with the paperwork.
Some time later the hospital psychologist came over to talk to us. It wasn't easy to say it all out loud and she didn't say much we didn't know already except maybe that we don't need to force ourselves to explain everything to each new person we meet. Because that's my worst fear now. I think I'll be afraid to leave the house because I may bump into someone who doesn't know yet and have to tell them, or someone who does know and feels they have to give the same speech I've heard a million times these last couple of days about how I need to move on and so on. I realise people don't know what to say and they want to be sympathetic but there really isn't anything to say and talking about it just keeps bringing everything back. I think in a way I feel I've been branded and now everyone will feel sorry for me and I don't want that.
My doctor dropped by around 4 PM and said I could leave the hospital - there was no point waiting around if everything was OK. So my mother went to take care of the paperwork and I got dressed and prepared to leave.
It was raining when we left. I waited by the hospital door while Pedro went to get the car. It's really uncomfortable to walk because of the stitches.
When I got home I changed into some comfortable pants and sat on the sofa for a while trying to figure out how I felt about being home. It wasn't as bad as I feared.
We had some more visits - from my sister-in-law and Pedro's cousin - and then everyone left and I went to the baby room and started putting things away while I still had the nerve. I took the clothes out of the hospital bag and put them in the drawers and pilled up everything else around and on top of the bed so as to concentrate the whole thing in one corner of the room.
I think I still need to take the bed apart because through all this something really stupid has stuck in my head - a superstition passed on by my cleaning lady that it's bad luck to have the baby bed assembled before the birth. I don't believe in this sort of thing but it keeps coming back to me, and since I can't blame anyone for what happened, an inanimate object is the next best thing, I guess. When you don't have any logical reasons for things, illogical ones start creeping into your head. I guess a stupid reason is better than none at all.
Apart from that it was fairly OK because none of those things actually belonged to the baby. There's no connection between the two. They were just there, waiting to be used but never were.
And that's the other thing - no matter how awful the whole thing is I know it could have been worse. I think losing a baby that's 2 or 3 months old is still worse than what I went through. Or if someone had killed him. There's all sorts of scenarios that would have been marginally more painful even than what I feel now, but that doesn't help much.
I still spent the rest of the day finding things that were connected to the baby all over the flat and gathering everything up. I've spent the last few months focusing on nothing else so the whole place has little things that have some connection to the pregnancy. I also started realising that it'll take a while to adjust to all the stuff I can do again - I can eat salt, I don't have to disinfect all the fruit and vegetables anymore, etc. I have to keep telling myself 'I can do this now', ' I don't have to do that anymore', and it stings a bit. Part of me wants to still be pregnant.
We spent the rest of the day watching TV and trying to do normal stuff. What else is there to do? We need to adjust to the fact that it's going to continue being just the two of us. Considering that it was always just us, I never thought I'd feel such a huge gap. All I can think about is 'when can I start over'. But I know next time I'll panic all the way to the end. I know something else might happen and I'll have to go through this all over again. But giving up makes me feel desperate. The only way I can go through this is if there's still hope I can be a mother one day.