I saw my GP today and she had the final autopsy report.
Anja was perfect. Anatomically and chromosomally normal, the report says. The right size and weight. Everything developing normally and in the right place.
But she asphyxiated. Why? That the report can’t tell us. She suffocated inside me and I hope it was fast and I am trying to force away the panic: why didn’t I go in earlier? What if I could have saved her?
I hope it was fast. Oh, god, how I hope it was fast. I can’t bear to think of her slowly dying inside me while I went about my morning, oblivious, or while I wondered, later that afternoon, whether she was okay. Why didn’t I just go in?
No one should ever have to read about the state of her baby’s organs, imagine them being cut open and examined, the body sewn up again and set back in the correct drawer in the morgue, ready to go off to the crematorium to burn, burn, burn.
Oh baby girl. I’m so sorry. My perfect, gone little girl. I’m sorry. I love you.