Denial

I've been thinking about Kayla all day today.  I have to say, I can now sometimes think of her and not be so sad.  I usually do still cry or want to cry at least once a day but I can control when it happens.  But today I was sitting at my desk at work and I was crying. 

I was remembering how I sat in the doctor's private office just moments (or maybe it was long minutes later, who knows) after seeing the stillness of no heartbeat on the ultrasound machine.  My husband hadn't arrived yet and the nurses were awkwardly trying to offer me tissues or water, but none of them would come in the room with me.  They all looked at me from the door.  The doctor was starting to go over some of my options, whether I wanted to be induced that day or wait until the next day, etc.  For some reason, the only question I could think of was Is my insurance going to cover this? 

Looking back now I have to give credit to my doctor for not laughing or reacting negatively.  As if I had a CHOICE, as if I could opt-out of this procedure.  Never mind, my insurance won't cover this, so I think I'll just go home and have my baby later.  That was my denial.  It was too overwhelming to think of the depth of this loss, because I lost everything in those moments.  So my mind focused on one small detail of something I felt like I could control, and that was my stupid insurance. 

Then, the next day, which could have been years later to my tired brain, when it came time to say goodbye to Kayla.  I could have spent more time with her, but her body was starting to change and my husband really was getting uncomfortable and if I'm completely honest, I was tired and sad and I didn't want to put her down alone in the bassinet, so I just kept holding her.  So I was getting tired of holding her dead weight and so I called for the nurse to come get her.  I said my goodbyes just minutes before our friends walked in to visit, so our actual last moments with her were shared with them.  I'm still mad about that--that no one asked them to wait outside for a few more minutes, but we did the best we could I guess.  The nurse came to take her away and I felt like I had to explain to her "we already said goodbye."  And I let her wheel my baby away from me and I don't know what happened to her after that or who held her or who picked her body up or who did her autopsy and if they were disgusted by her tumor or if they thought of her as an actual, loved baby instead of some almost-baby or how she got to the funeral home or anything else about what happened to her. 

But in that moment I felt ok with saying goodbye to her.  I had to do it.  Maybe that was denial too, to believe that I could say goodbye and be ok.  Because I'm still saying goodbye to her and searching for her and wishing for those moments back almost 9 months later.