The design of the hospital gown
was busier than any I'd ever seen, and the sheets were rough: lacking any smell or familiarity. I pulled my jean jacket off the chair because I wanted something softer to hold on to. The nurse had brought in magazines that were a year old because my phone had died, and I had no one with me, I managed to read a poem in The New Yorker about a Sari. The results of the sonogram were taking too long, but I already knew that there was no heartbeat...so what was I still doing there? I felt like that entire day I was holding my breath. Through the exam, the touching, the asking, and the pitiful looks, I was holding in a scream that was edging closer to my teeth.
You had left me six days ago,
the day after I began to bleed the first time. What I had thought was the miscarriage, but now was told it wasn't. I could see you couldn't do it anymore, even though I begged and cried. You needed to get out. So you abandoned me, through Father's Day weekend. A horrible weekend. The weekend I still had an extra heart beating inside me. Your heartbeats. I told you to leave me alone, unaware that it was still growing inside me, and you listened.
The doctor came in 2 hours later
or so, to announce that the pregnancy had been ectopic. That I was "lucky" I miscarried now before it would have ruptured my Fallopian tube. Lucky was the wrong word to use, I thought. I was far from that. I had failed at being a woman. I was plugged in to IVs and monitors, and wondered how I had ended alone here. Blood dripped through the IV into me, and I realized how fragile my body had been for so long. The doctor had also found cysts and masses in my ovaries and thyroid, iron deficiency to the point of hospitalization.... and
all I could think about was the way you looked at me
that day you left. How insignificant my well being was to the person who had meant my entire world for so long.
I was discharged after seven hours with referrals to four different doctors. I lied and said someone was picking me up, but it was an Uber. I sat in the stranger's car and told him to circle around and drop me off at my car. I paid six dollars. I sat there;one hand on the wheel, the other holding on to the emptiness of my womb and screamed. For pain of loss.