Not So Bad
It wasn't bad, as miscarriages go.
Sure, there was the pain; the ripping-you-apart-twisting-hot poker-to-the-uterus pain. There was the knowledge that dripping down her legs was the hopes and dreams shed held for the dead thing inside her. Another would-be child: dead. Another child she couldn't keep alive, leaking out like any other bodily fluids.
It wasn't that bad though.
This one was so different from the last one. This one she'd felt the pains and when the blood began to flow she knew. She knew better than to hold false hope.
This time she was not huddled hemorrhaging under a tree in the sand on a remote island in the Bahamas far from any hospital.
This time she was in her mother's home, a mere hour's drive from excellent medical care. She'd felt the tearing away, the dropping feeling, the loss of Connection, and known. She took the time to almost ceremonially bathe and prepare herself. She told her mother she was going out for awhile and calmly climbed into her car. She drove and calmly switched radio stations. She drove and calmly switched lanes. A tear leaked out, and she woodenly pushed it away. Another burned it's way down her cheek. Then, because there was no one in the car, no one to hear her lose her control, then, she screamed...and screamed...and screamed. She screamed until only hoarse pathetic croaks came from her lips.
At the hospital she parked a couple hundred feet away from the doors and was greeted by staff more suited to a hotel lobby in their polite manner than an emergency room registration desk. Within a few minutes a kind and patient staff member had taken her medical history, confirmed address and payment info, and gently fasted a patient ID band around her wrist. Five minutes later she sat in a private room in an interview with her nurse, Charissa. Charissa took blood, installed an IV line and brought her a stylish gown and blankets. Within ten minutes the doctor on duty rushed into the door, and seeing her doubled up with pain asked did she want something for the pain now or after a sonogram to check for the presence of a fetus. Then he checked the blood tests results in my chart and ordered the nurse to go get a dose of Dilaudid and Zofran for the patient. He spoke to his clipboard, "this blood work says there's probably nothing in there to worry about hurting now."
When the heat of the narcotics and anti nausea med spread throughout her body a few minutes later it wasn't only physical pain they numbed. She welcomed the temporary euphoria and absence of emotions.
The rest was a haze of sonogram probing, long dimly lit hallways, and the doctor referring me to a specialist later in the week to rule out ectopic since her "uterus is empty".
So was she, she thought.
She walked back through the emergency room lobby shortly after and the registration staff waved sadly.
She sat in her car in the parking lot and sent the few texts she needed to. She and her Rasta Man hadn't told anyone but a few close family.
She drive feeling empty, angry, and cold.
So very cold.
That night she dreamt dark dreams of screams and mountains and tornadoes.
It wasn't bad this time though...as miscarriages go.
This time there wasnt a seven hour wait soaked in her own blood in a room full of unfriendly people with even more hateful staff. Nope. Not so bad...as miscarriages go.