Don't write it. It's too horrific.
What do I do with it then? What do I do? I didn't know what to do.
You should have left it there. Let them send it to pathology. Then there would be nothing to tell.
But I would know. I couldn't forget. I was all alone in that room, and there was all the blood everywhere, and the smell. I didn't have a phone to call anyone.
You shouldn't have looked. You should have just let it go. Now what are you going to do with it?
But it could have... I might have seen... I had to know.
And now you know. Is it any better?
Than not knowing? It's too late to find out.
You were laughing before this. You were getting through.
I thought it was a funny joke. An OB who couldn't find my cervix. I thought it would turn out to be a big deal over nothing.
You didn't notice how nervous she was? She just kept talking and talking...
I had never met her before, how was I to know?
and the cupboard doors banging and the scrambling around to find things.
Well, I did notice that, but I still thought we were in a comedy. There was the speculum hanging out of me, and her having no idea what to do. I thought it would be one of those uncomfortably funny posts. Where we all have a good laugh at my discomfort. And when I mocked her for her terribly technical use of terms, "Some stuff hanging out of your cervix", I thought that would be funny too.
when did you know?
When she asked for the specimen jar.
You didn't have to ask...
Yes I did. I needed to know if it was a... a body.
And now you know too much.
Now you have a mental image that haunts you.
It was not a good time to have the background in birth that I do. Because now I understand what could make an impassive OB almost lose her cool.
Her voice kept cracking. She kept saying necrotized over and over. She ran out of there as soon as she could.
She left all the bloody things lying around.
Did it hit you then?
No, I was too busy trying to decide what to do with the specimen jar.
Why didn't you leave it? It's not your baby any more.
No, but it was for a while.
And now you have a half rotten fetus in your fridge.
Yes. We're going to bury it.
Where will you put it that the dogs won't dig it up? The balloons you released as a memorial were a much nicer image.
But this is true. I would have figured it out anyway.
True. Your baby spent a week dangling from your cervix and rotting away inside you, you kept wiping away black rotten strands of your own child's body until you realized that it wasn't just blood clots and called someone. True is ugly. How will you go on now?
I don't know. I will, because I have to. Beautiful is true as well. Little's downy head with her fist tucked next to her cheek also came through my cervix. I can think of that instead.
It doesn't always work.
But it helps. Life and death hold hands sometimes.
You still can't say it without crying.
No. Not yet.
Don't publish it, you're being melodramatic.
That's what kept me from calling the doctor for 3 days, the thought that I was imagining it because I knew it was possible, and that I was being overly dramatic.
Well, if you had waited much longer you probably would have gone septic.
See, melodrama might have saved my life.
Now you're being dramatic again.
I guess, except that it's true.
No one wants to read this. It's too horrifying.
But it's true. Do I just pretend like it didn't happen? We're not good at pretending things, you know that.
Maybe, just this once, it's better to let it be.
Maybe... I... I don't know. I can't sleep. Maybe writing it will help me to let it go.