Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien

Humph. If only.

I regret so very many things. Pointless I know.

As making lists seems to be the way this blog is going, why not? A list of things I regret.

Being so damn pleased with myself. I was horribly smug about being pregnant, I'm sure I did all that annoying belly rubbing and whining about morning sickness and was generally unbearable. God, I hope that no one I work with ever lost a baby. Or struggled to conceive a baby. They must have wanted to stick needles in my eyes. I want to go back in time and stick needles in my OWN eyes.

Informing everyone that I was expecting twins. It just seemed too strange and special to keep it to myself. One of my good friends has twins, my sister-in-law has twins, my next door neighbour has twins. And now we were expecting twins as well. I couldn't stop telling people it was twins. Even total strangers who asked when the baby was due.
Counting. Chickens. Prior. To. Said. Chickens. Hatching.

Not paying more attention at my scans. I had four ultrasounds with the girls, one at 12 wks, one at 20 wks and two further detailed scans at 21 and 22 wks. I wish I had known that it was one of the only opportunities I would every have to see Georgina. I wish I had savoured every single minute. I wish I had tried to fix every single image of her in my mind. But I didn't. At one scan I forgot to bring my glasses so I couldn't see too much.

Not being better informed. I knew that there was a chance of premature labour with twins but I was too frightened to read up on anything. I clung on to the fact that every medical professional I had spoken to told me that it was unlikely that anything would go wrong. I even told the doctors that night that I was 23 weeks when they asked me how far on I was. They might not even have tried to save my girls because I said that. It sends a shiver down my spine. I didn't know to lie, to say 24 weeks or higher. I had no idea what was coming, I didn't know anything about brain bleeds, haemorrhages, NEC, MRSA, ROP, chronic lung disease. Any of it. I didn't advocate for my children as I wish I could have.

That I couldn't stop them being born so prematurely.

That I let them start the medical interventions for Georgina.

That I let them stop the medical interventions for Georgina.

That it wasn't my arms she took her last few faltering breaths in. That I let her daddy bear that burden and that privilege. It should have been me.

That I slept whilst she was alive. That I left the room whilst she was still alive.

That I didn't spend longer with her body. I wanted to hold on to her for so long. So long. I had to leave her. Everyday I wish that I could go back into that room and pick her up and kiss her cold little face. But she's ash now.

That I didn't realise that my husband found my behaviour ghoulish. That he found watching me cuddle, bathe and dress our dead baby very, very upsetting.

That I didn't see Jessica at all until several hours after her birth. That I spent virtually no time with Jessica during the first few days of her life. That I took her survival for granted.

That this list could go on for much longer.

But I don't regret my girls. I don't regret that I loved them so desperately, so fiercely.
Every bad decision I made. Every good decision I made. Those bits where I wasn't making any decisions at all but just stumbling along as best as I could. I did it with all the stupid, clumsy love I have in my stupid, incompetent body. I tried my best. I hope they know that.

And really I don't regret any of it. If it had happened any differently they might not have been my two girls. I love them. Georgina. Jessica. Those two specific, particular individuals.

Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien. Sing it for me Edith.