I have often regretted not going to the hospital Cora’s last night, when I was at work and a coworker offered to take my place so I could go in because I told her I felt “off” – especially after looking at the ultrasound from 23 weeks and it becoming painfully obvious that her cord was around her neck then.
I’ve often told myself that “if only I’d known” about her cord placement, I might have gone in, and maybe they would have seen her distress and could have saved her.
But in thinking about it today, the anniversary of the day we confirmed she was no longer living, I realized something. I was thinking about the last movement I remembered, a long stretch into my ribs that prompted me to ask her not to hurt me, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was the last I remembered because it was the last. If that is the case, then even if I had gone to the hospital then, it would have been too late.
This actually gives me peace, even though some might think it would do the opposite. It means that my inaction didn’t alter the outcome.
I still hurt immensely for her. I miss her today of all days, as I relive the trauma of the doctor’s awful words “her heart’s not beating,” and that still image that is seared into my mind. But it gives me some peace.