the nights, the hallway
Tonight is one of those nights when I carefully take out the memory box, remove the blanket she wore, and clutch it to my face as I try to sleep. After ativan, and wine, I try to sleep. I turn the light back on, I look at the photo of myself looking down at her face. Perfectly round, except for the chin, which points like the bottom of a heart. Prominent nose, like mine. I look at my daughter. You are so beautiful, Avalon. You would’ve been worthy of your name…
I walk down the hallway. That same hallway where my life ended, my happiness murdered in a puddle of blood and despair. It’s a normal hospital corridor, but my heart pounds with every footstep. Danger, danger is here. No, danger was here. It still feels so close and real. Run, run, run to triage. Something is wrong, something is ending. The ice is cracking, I’m falling through the good reality. The bad reality has come for me. Run, run, the other way. Hot blood between my legs, gushing gushing. My baby stirring, then still, then stirring again. Mama I’m here, Mama hurry, Mama our time is short… The hallway, the hallway, where I died. There is no gravestone or flowers or moments of silence. There is my fear and the trace of a scent of my blood, only I can smell it now.
(I was walking into work on the morning of Saturday, December 8th, walking down a long hallway through the hospital when I felt moisture between my legs and stopped at the restroom, just to check. I thought it would be just discharge. It was blood… blood dripping and gushing. I turned around and immediately went to triage. The blood came and went, but 5 days later it irritated my uterus enough to put me into labor. Had it been 5 weeks later, my daughter might be alive. I hate that hallway.)
Categories: baby loss