As I suspected, getting the report was a bit anti-climactic. We’d already heard the preliminary findings weeks ago, so it shouldn’t have been and wasn’t much of a shock to learn that the official cause of death is prematurity. But you hope and hope that something concrete would be found…something to answer the big “Why?” Because she’d been doing so well. Everyone commented on it. She was gaining weight. Her lungs were improving. She bounced right back from the problem with her breathing tube being in the wrong spot THAT VERY MORNING. The report uses “within normal limits” or variations thereof over and over. So, we’ll never really know. Dr. N is still going to have the blood taken at birth sent off for a full screen for metabolic disorders just to make sure. He thanked us for agreeing to the autopsy. I guess most parents don’t, and there are so many things they can’t tell without one, without the gross and microscopic examinations, so the knowledge available is limited. I couldn’t imagine not doing one. I had to know if there was an answer. I had to know how and why. I wish I did know. He reassured us that not finding a concrete cause would indicate that it shouldn’t cause problems for future pregnancies. Assuming, of course, there are future pregnancies and they make it to term. He didn’t say that, by the way, that’s just the thought that kept going around and around in my head.
Anyway, that’s it. That is the last official step. No more forms. No more reports. Now, it’s just us, facing each day with out her.
As I write that, I worry. I worry that people read my posts, which go on and on about Zoë and wonder why I don’t talk more about Lennox, why I don’t seem as shaken by his death. From the moment I got to the hospital we were given statistics on Lennox’s survival. We were given stats on both twins, but since his membrane was ruptured, his were considerably more dire. We spent a great deal of those two weeks of bed rest with the possibility of losing both of our children and knowing that Lennox’s chances were slim at best. From the first report on him from the NICU, we prepared ourselves for the worst. While Zoë breathed on her own, albeit briefly, Lennox was treated for a pneumothorax. His heart swelled. His bladder had to be catheterized. As difficult as it was, letting Lennox go was the best thing we could do for him and we always knew we might have to make that decision. Not that that made it easy and not that I don’t grieve for him. But we still had Zoë and she needed us so much. And we needed her. For those three short weeks, she was our entire world and we truly believe that Lennox held on after his membrane ruptured for as long as he could to give her the best chance possible. I don’t know if I needed to explain that or not. I just didn’t ever want anyone to leave here wondering why I talk about her more than Lennox. It isn’t a less or more…it’s just so very different.