Relationships and life on hold

As the days go by I feel more empty and dead as I contemplate and think about everything that happened. I'm sure it doesn't help that I am trying to prepare for Wyatt's memorial service so I am constantly looking at his pictures and handling his few small belongings. If things weren't bad enough, today I received his social security card in the mail. It was like a knife in the heart. One more tangible thing to prove that he was here and yet I can't be with him.
As the days pass and I remain in intense pain I feel myself start to become full of hate. It's hate on a level that I have never ever experienced before. It's consuming which makes me nervous and yet I am unable to do anything about it. I hate the doctors who walked me through all of this. Not only can no one tell me what happened, no one could see it coming even with ultrasounds at 2 and 4 week intervals. I am still highly confused how a baby and placenta can be "perfect" at week 20 and have my baby be on the verge of death at week 24. Please tell me how that happens with all of the medical technology that we supposedly have today. I'm infuriated at the c-section and my lack of recovery. I have a massive, painful lump on my stomach and the same doctors are still scratching their heads, even though they were the ones who sewed me up. I'm starting to feel like no one wants to take any responsibility around here. I don't care about my scar, I care about my insides functioning. No one ever told me that I would be faced with weeks and possibly months of unbearable pain, no only at the incision site, but around my entire back and up my entire abdomen. Why does it hurt when I eat? Why does it STILL hurt just to walk. It's been three weeks and I cannot physically continue on with life...not just because I am grieving my son but because I just can't! And I am SO pissed about it. Too little too late but I've spent two days doing research on a classical c-section cut (which is apparently what I received because my uterus and Wyatt were small) and I've found no evidence saying that's what had to happen. Everything that I can find talks about how classical cuts aren't done anymore because of their danger. It takes away any shot of future normal births and- get this- increases your chances of the placenta tearing off the uterine wall! No kidding, so now I can go through this entire thing all over again and lose other children in the future because I happened to live in a place with uneducated medical professionals. I just took their word for it and I let it happen. My husband constantly reminds me that we thought Wyatt would live, at 27 weeks he should have. At the moment we were doing what we could for him. Now it's hard for me, knowing that he is not here. He died anyway and I'm left all torn up...physically and emotionally. It's easy for me to forget that it was for Wyatt when the pain never stops.
As guilty as I feel saying this, Wyatt is gone and I do have a small voice inside of me that wants to get on with life. Because of the surgery, however, that has been impossible and has severely hindered life at home and my own grieving process. I want to cuddle with my husband. I want to curl up like a baby and cry and have him hold me but I can't even fathom being able to get into that position, let alone have someone touch me. I want to get my daughter out of her crib from her naps and I don't feel enough strength or lack of pain in my pinky finger to do that. I want to play with her on the floor, I want to push her around the sidewalk in her coupe car but all of that hurts unbearably. I want to play soccer in the front yard with my kids and I can't imagine ever being able to kick a ball again. The family has learned after three weeks that mommy is in pain and no one asks me to play anymore. My toddler doesn't reach for me to pick her up anymore. As my heart breaks for Wyatt, it breaks for the rest of the relationships in my family. My marriage and motherhood are on standstill for the chance that maybe my body will ever be normal again. With every jagged pain and ache, with every sneeze or attempt at a chuckly my body reminds me that I've been torn open and carelessly put back together and....this is the worst part....I'll never be the same again. I don't care about scars but I would like to digest food without pain. I would like to laugh or go to the bathroom without breaking into tears from pain. I'd like to walk around and bend over to pick things up. I'd like it to take less than 10 minutes to climb into our car. I don't think any of this is too much to ask. The fact that I can't bring Wyatt back or change the course of the pregnancy is hard enough on my brain. Knowing I can't change a medical procedure that has negatively altered my life tops it off. I had known Wyatt was destined for heaven I would have given birth. I'd be perfectly healthy by now and at least the very least I would be physically able to attempt to continue on with life. I want my son back, but I also want my strength and health back. One look at my toddler makes me want to hold and hug her be the best mom that I can be. As it is, I can't even shower alone, let alone love her the way she needs. So I sit here, restless and depressed, wishing I had made better decisions, or lived in a place with better doctors, so that I could have a better outcome for the rest of the family. The hate for my situation, myself, my body, my poor decision-making skills, the Ob who did my surgery, the NICO doctor who couldn't manage to get a breathing tube into my son, and everyone else involved in the situation is poisoning. I am full of pure hate.