When your baby dies planning doesn’t make sense any more. In a world of baby showers and an attitude that baby’s are guaranteed; those whom have lost know the truth.
So imagine the laughter that ripped through my mind when a nurse called me to make an appointment to discuss “my birth plan.” It took everything in me not to reply snidely “Well, our daughter is alive right now, I would like to give birth to her alive and bring her home…alive. Oh! And I want to be alive too!” What else matters? Do you really think I can really care about when erythromycin is used on the baby’s eyes? Whether I have a csection or vaginal delivery? Or what heinous torture they put me through this time? How can I care about that? I simply don’t. Alive please. Both of us, alive.
I now have a series of appointments to discuss our birth plan.
There is just one problem. I have no idea what an ideal birth would be. I have never had one. I have no idea what we would want. Further to, I am scared to take my mind there. I did that with Ava. I pictured the perfect birth, I mediated on it …literally. I spent a great deal of time and energy preparing my mind, body and soul for her birth. It is probably how I was able to focus and deal with what did happen to us. I don’t know if I have it in me to take myself there again. It feels like beyond hope, it feels like arrogance. Hope is something I can barely manage on a good day when she is really active. But to be arrogant about the fact we will live, well I cannot do that. I don’t know that. If I go to that arrogant place and this baby dies, I fear I will never recover. If the world of “all babies live” sucks me in and I actually believe it, and she dies, my soul would shatter.
So to create a fake “birth plan” to satisfy those whom believe all babies live? Or do I just just be honest with myself? My plan is for this baby to live, for me to live and for us to taking our living girl home. Torture me, leave me writhing in pain, I can take it. Please let us live.