Thirty one weeks we had walked in the world as parents, ripening with expectation. Eleven weeks since we saw her via ultrasound, ten since I felt her move within me.
And then –
No kicks, none of the rolling in my belly that filled my blood and skin and synapses with joy. A midnight drive to the hospital, calmly checking in at the labor and delivery desk when all I want to do was scream something’s wrong, help us, help her instead of smiling thinly and filling out the form the receptionist slid toward me, scribbling my signature with fingers weighted with fear.
And finally, in a gown and in a bed, a nurse tracing gel over my abdomen, listening to the whoosh of the guts and fluid within, but no heartbeat, no heartbeat. She might be hiding, as babies do, the nurse says, and I nod and hop, but my doctor steps into the room gray-faced and the smile that fluttered up my face as she entered falters. . . .
I'm excited to be writing over at Truth Be Told today for Bethany's It is Written series about writing truth on our skin. This is maybe my favorite thing I have ever written.