October is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month and so as part of raising awareness and educating the public about miscarriage, stillbirth, and infant loss, my posts this month reflect this theme.
I alternated between passing and inspecting tissue on the toilet and laying limp in a heap on the bathroom floor for about an hour as the cramping and contractions ebbed and flowed. Had I passed the baby yet was all I wanted to know. It was all I needed to know.
I heard my daughter passing by in the hallway and I yelled, in as calm a voice as possible, asking her to send Doug upstairs. By the time he got to the bathroom, I’d rallied a brave face.
“Oh my God!” he gasped, coming into the bathroom. “Are you OK?”
“Yeah, I whispered, “Didn’t you hear me pounding on the floor?”
“I thought it was one of the kids messing around, I’m so sorry,” he said, getting down on his hands and knees. “What can I do?” he said, coming near me.
“It’s just a lot of blood. Don’t touch me!” Every part of my body hurt by this point and I was still in my laboring frame of mind where being touched would send me into mental and emotional orbit.
“Do you need anything? Can I get you something? Do you need a washcloth or a towel? Do you want me to stay here with you?”
“No,” I said, “It’s OK. Just keep the kids away.”