At 8 months, I had a dream my youngest was stillborn due to a cord around the neck. That day, he stopped moving. This kid was bouncing around since 14 weeks. He was always moving. But then, silence.
I drank a can of Dr. Pepper, still nothing. Ate candy, still nothing. I walked out of work (which as a teacher tends to fuck things up) and drove myself to the doctor while simultaneously poking my belly and sobbing. Ever so slight movements, but not the normal MMA style combat.
Doctor comes in and says baby was fine. I told them he wasn't fine. Something was wrong. Nah, he's fine. "You're just hormonal." I swallowed the desire to scream. I asked them to check the cord, and they said they can't see it on an ultrasound (which is bullshit) and said he's fine. I stated it plainly: I dreamed he died because the cord was wrapped around his neck; please check. Nope, he's fine.
For 3-4 weeks, I was a mess. He rarely moved. I knew something was wrong and I was hysterical every day. I had my c-section scheduled for exactly 39 weeks, the earliest that insurance would allow it. I just wanted this to be over asap. His movements dropped from 30-40 in 10 minutes to 9-11. No one listened to me. The day finally comes, they pull him out, a tiny cry, and then silence.
The cord was wrapped around his neck. Twice.
Oh hells bells. If you wanted to hear vulgarity, that operating room was full of it. Me screaming "I fucking told you so" and everyone cowering. Aside from the cord, his lungs didn't want to make the switch to breathing air, so he had to be repeatedly resuscitated. The cord and the lungs were not related, btw. They were two independent problems. But at that moment, heads were going to roll. I could hear the nurses yelling at him to breathe. If I hadn't been strapped down on that table, I would've found a way to fling myself off and murder my OBGYN right then and there.
He was in the NICU for almost a week before his breathing was ok. A year and a half later, I still whisper thank yous to him for not tangling himself further in that cord.
This kid has given me more gray hair than the other two kids and more than a decade of teaching high schoolers combined. Long gone are the days of being polite and not wanting to appear to be rude. The rabid mama bear switch got flipped that day. If I had lost that baby because I was too much of a chicken shit to push harder on my OBGYN or to seek a second opinion, I wouldn't never forgiven myself. I'm still nice to my kids' doctors and teachers and shit because I'm not an asshole, but damn, if I am not satisfied with an answer, I am not leaving until I am.