Sitting at my computer trying to find the words to tell you about the last couple of days, I found my mind wandering into story telling mode and didn’t seem to be able to tell this story in any other way than the third person.
Stumbling down the hallway in the dark trying to ignore the piercing screams emanating from the door on the right; Kay knew there was something wrong. Her back was in agony, so much so that she could hardly stand. She screwed her eyes up against the harsh bathroom light and pulled down her pyjama bottoms to sit on the toilet. No blood. That’s odd, she thought.
She had been sure she was loosing the baby; the pains in her back had kept her awake half the night just like her period pains used to when she was a teenager and she had been bleeding on and off for over a week now. She put it from her mind and went in search of painkillers and a cup of tea. It might only be 5am but there was no way she would get back to sleep this morning. The screaming had stopped meaning that little Emily must have fallen back to sleep. “Thank God for that.” She murmured to herself, the day was going to be hard enough if these pains didn’t go away, she didn’t need it starting 2 hours earlier than normal.
Sitting in the dark nursing her cup of tea, her mind turned to the life that she was sure was no longer growing inside her. She knew that these things happened, that it didn’t mean she had done something wrong or that she wouldn’t have more, healthy pregnancies in the future but in spite of it all the tears still fell. She wept as she mourned the life she would never know and the child that would never grow despite knowing that it wasn’t big enough to be considered a child yet. It had only been 4mm long when they had an ultrasound last week.
She wept because of the pain and knowledge that she had to get through the day with her daughter and couldn’t crawl off to bed. She wept because of the unfairness of it all, because of the terrible morning sickness she had suffered, the happy phone calls she had made too early and the thought of the less pleasant ones she would have to make soon. She wept because she was sitting here in the dark alone, dealing with it by herself whilst the rest of the house slept. She knew he hadn’t got home from work until 4am last night and she knew he had to get up again at 7am this morning and go back to work and that he really need to sleep but she still couldn’t help feeling resentful as she sat there alone knowing he was resting comfortably on the other side of the wall.
After a while the tears stopped, and her outlook on the day changed. The sun was beginning to make an appearance and the cold frost of the night before lay think and undisturbed on the ground outside. She mentally picked herself up, gave herself a good shaking out and set about tidying up the kitchen before everyone else woke...
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http://runninginwellies.wordpress.com/2007/10/10/the-miscarriage-my-life-in-the-third-person/
Recent Comments
sandyray said (5 months ago)
I know I am late in this, but I am sooo sorry. I was just talking with a friend of mine today that was going through the same thing. And reading this 22 year and 10 years later, I remember the feelings and again, I am so sorry.
disp911gal said (7 months ago)
You know, my mom had a miscarriage between my older sister and I and my dad SWEARS that it was me and that I decided I just wasn't ready to come down to earth yet. I have thought about that at times, and I believe I would have been a much different person had I come down a year earlier. I would have had different friends, I would have ended up playing with differnt girls instead of the girls I did. That would have led to me being in different circles, making different choices, etc. So maybe your baby just decided it would be better if they came later. That thought always cheered my mom up. Maybe it will help you too.
mamakt4 said (8 months ago)
Whoa. I have to be ready before I read your posts. It sounds like you have a healthy outlook on things and will be able to incorporate this painful experience into the collage that is your life. I wish you healing.
The Farmers Wife said (9 months ago)
Thank you Ian although I am feeling much better now. Writing it all down was very cathartic.
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Melody said (3 months ago)