Something Precious {H.S.}

17: ᴋɪʟʟ ʟᴀ ᴋɪʟʟ

One week later

Impossible.

In the past week, I've heard that word more times than I can count. I've had countless teams of doctors talk to me, and they've constantly analyzed my daughter. They just can't figure it out.

How did my baby come back to life when she was pronounced dead?

I don't know the answer myself, but I'm not focused on it. I'm just thankful that she is still alive. Barley, but she's a fighter.

That day, after Nurse Samira called the code, a bunch of nurses and doctors whisked my baby away to the NICU. I was so scared, but one doctor insisted that I stayed calm. He told me that I had my baby vaginally and that I pushed her out. I don't remember doing that at all, and I told him so. He said it was probably extremely traumatic, so my brain made me forget it. So it wasn't really a miscarriage that they thought, but a stillbirth (although technically, it wasn't that either). A doctor told Samira the wrong terminology. Somehow they were able to stop my other daughter from coming out by sewing up my cervix and keeping my body at a 90 degree angle. My head is pointed down and my feet are up.

I can't visit my baby in the NICU, since I'm nearly upside down, and it breaks my damn heart. Samira and some other nurses took it upon themselves to set up something like a video chat between me and my girl. I talk to her constantly and I sing to her, just like I did when she was with her sister.

It's hard to see her though because she is hooked up to what looks like hundreds of machines. She's taking laboured breaths, and her eyes are taped shut because they're not fully developed. At night I stare at the wall and think about what I could've done differently to prevent this.

It's my fault that my baby is out in the world before her time. It's my fault that she could die at any minute. It's my fault for letting Harry and his whore effect me enough to almost kill my babies. The guilt eats me the most, at night, when I'm alone. It takes everything in me not to cry my eyes out all the time.

It's been a week, and I still haven't processed that Harry's alive. I haven't processed anything that happened that day. Whenever I think about it, I go numb and my emotions cut off. I think that I may still be in shock. Or maybe it's trauma like when I pushed out my baby. So, I don't think about it at all. It's extremely unhealthy, but I'm following my pattern of pretending that it didn't happen.

Today, they feel bad for me, so, the nurses and doctors are going to try and roll me up to the NICU. I hate when people pity me, but if I get to see my baby in person, it's worth it. This might not work since I'm still in the bed and have to stay at a certain angle, but I'm optimistic.

There's a light knock on my door and it opens revealing Samira.

"Good morning Ellie girl, are you ready for your sponge bath?" My cheeks heat up in embarrassment and I groan. "Do I have to? You know, I feel perfectly clean and I smell like roses."

Samira snorts at me. "Smell like roses my butt! Hon, you need to wash. Ain't no use acting embarrassed now when you know how you have to go to the bathroom."

My cheeks are on fire now, and I hold my hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright! You didn't have to go there Mira." She just laughs and goes to get everything ready.

After 30 minutes, I'm finally clean and dressed in a fresh hospital gown. One of the doctors comes to check on my stitches, before giving me the final go ahead to see my baby.