I was supposed to be 27 weeks pregnant today. This is a hard one for me to swallow. All I can think about, in addition to the baby we didn’t get to keep, is the entire trimester I didn’t get to have. Once I got past being nauseated and exhausted 24 hours a day, I loved being pregnant. I felt great, and every day, there was something new and exciting. Jillian’s hiccups were my favorite. I felt such a connection to her already, and I selfishly treasured the time when I had her all to myself.
The thing I’m having the hardest time with is the guilt I feel about Jillian being born so early. I know it wasn’t caused by anything I did or had any control over, but the fact is my body failed. While it’s possible that someday I may stop feeling so guilty about it, I don’t think anyone will ever be able to convince me that this was not a failure on my body’s part. It didn’t work the way it was supposed to. It didn’t keep my baby safe. The most frustrating thing for me is that there doesn’t seem to be a reason for it. There was no infection, and worst of all for me, there wasn’t anything wrong with Jillian (aside from being born way too early).
The thing that keeps me up at night is the thought of Jillian being scared. I don’t know how conscious she was of anything that was going on. While a part of me would like to think she didn’t have any idea what was happening, that also means that she didn’t know when Dave and I were there, didn’t feel my hands on her, didn’t hear us, etc. The evidence suggests otherwise (mainly, her heart rate slowing down when we talked to her, and her physically calming down when my hands were on her), but that leads me back to thinking that she must have been terrified during her short life. It upsets me so much that I don’t think I can even finish typing my thoughts on it. I know she knew how much we love her. I wish it had been enough to save her.