Without further adieu...
On my 26th birthday I got the best present I
could have ever asked for – a positive pregnancy test. We’d only been trying since July but I had
been aching for a baby of my own since we said “I do” almost four years
earlier. I was so excited that I took
multiple pictures of that beautiful, positive test and texted those to K in
a rush of heart pounding excitement. No
elaborate reveals from this eager lady!
Then, days later, time slowed down as I sat in the
bathroom at work while my mind processed that the blood I was seeing and the
pain I was feeling probably led to nothing good.
The proper nurse that I am, I calmly took an
assessment. “T”, I addressed myself, “are you
going to be okay or are you going to freak out?" But before I had a chance to answer, time sped back up and the decision was made for me.
I dropped to my knees, crying, and spent just half a second begging the
Lord – not my baby, please, please, Lord…not
MY baby. But I’m a smart women and I
knew it was too late.
The begging gave way to some semblance of rational thought
as I realized my next dilemma. You see, I'd chosen a bathroom that opened directly to a patient hall and near the main nurses’ station. Obstacles of human interaction with patients and coworkers stood in my
way between this terrible place that the bathroom had become and my goal of solace that was my managers office.
I thought through all of this and wondered if I could make it without drawing attention to myself. I dried my eyes, slapped my cheeks, and decided to
just keep my head down, making a beeline for my target. And, folks, I did it. I walked out of the bathroom, acted normal,
and made it to her office door – my heart breaking all the while. And then that motherfucking door was locked. No one was there. My plan had failed and I didn't have another
one. Stay
calm, my mind chanted, stay calm, stay
calm, stay calm.
My feet carried me to the nurse’s station just a few steps
away. I was speechless, my body was
numb, and my baby was bleeding out of me.
I don’t know if I spoke or even if I made a noise – everything was disconnected
from everything else; all systems felt like they were working separately and it
was enough just to exist, but something got the attention of our nursing
secretary and so came that dreaded question. “What’s wrong,” she asked. “I think I just had a miscarriage,” I managed to reply and then everything failed, I covered my face, the sadness burned into me, and
I cried again.
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