C and I met with my doctor today. She was awesome--explained EVERYTHING that happened and could have happened and tests that happened to us, leaving no stone unturned. Answered all of our questions, offered guidance and support. Basically none of the tests--autopsy, genetic tests, pathology--have shown any reason for Calla to have died. There are still a few parts that have to come back--placenta pathology, for example (at least I think that's what she said)--that could reveal some answers. But overall, nada.
So, if this mysterious NOTHING hadn't happened, then I'd be still pregnant, or holding my baby girl right now. Weird. It's amazing how in these modern times, we know so much but still know so little. The human body has a way of doing its thing, despite modern medicine.
I'm kind of oversimplifying things here. I'm not so great at remembering details and nitty-gritty. I was basically waiting to hear what I needed to hear, and then let C absorb all the rest.
It wasn't the bacon. It wasn't the anti-bacterial cream. It wasn't an infection or virus or undercooked meat. It wasn't the worry that I wouldn't, couldn't be a good mother to two children. It wasn't the worry of getting two kids into the car and around the grocery store. It wasn't the running. It wasn't any of these things that I control in my life. It was . . . out of my control.
So, moving forward, there appears to be no increased risk of this happening again. So far. Tell that to my already-neurotic-worrywort brain. When we're ready, we're ready. Barring any major issues from outstanding tests, it's an eventual green light.
But still I'm sad. How can nothing take away everything?