The Rehearsal
note: this was written several years ago during a time which I belonged to a writing group. We would assign words each week and then work them into a piece. It was supposed to teach discipline. I am not good at being told what to write. I write in fits and starts. I could be standing in the middle of a war zone and be compelled to sit down and write a poem about gardening... this one turned out to be cathartic for me though I hadn't written about this time in my life until then.
On my way home that night I felt my mind go crazy. I was trying to find the damned Fed Ex drop off and I didn't know where the hell I was going. Nothing was making sense to me, addresses were swirling around and I felt disoriented. I finally found it and started my drive home still crazy and wondering if my blood sugar had dropped dramatically. I have always had trouble with my blood sugar but being pregnant had caused it to become more intense and frequent. Usually though I can feel it coming long before the craziness sets in.
Getting home I decided that it was indeed my blood sugar. I threw together a bologna and cheese sandwich, white bread and tons of mayo. One of the blessings of pregnancy is not watching the calories and the fat. In a manic fit, I gobbled it down, hardly tasting it at all. I leaned back with a pillow wedged behind the small of my back and waited for the relief that always comes with the rising of my blood sugar. Not long after, seconds maybe, I felt sick. Violently sick. I stumbled into the bathroom and lost that sandwich mayo and all.
I laid my head down on the cool linoleum and began falling into some sort of dream state. I remember thinking about the night I got pregnant. He made me dinner and turned on the Righteous Brothers and BAM! I was pregnant. I remembered introducing him to my mother and wondering if anyone had ever heard the words, "boyfriend" "marriage" and "pregnant" in the same sentence. She was making pizza at the time and it didn't seem to interrupt her rhythm. I guess its true there is nothing new under the sun.
I laid there on the floor for what seemed like hours. I finally found the strength to get back to the couch. That was on a Friday in September. I felt strange that evening but I figured it was just from the vomiting. In the morning I felt odd. I felt detached. I felt quiet. I laid on the couch waiting for the baby to do its usual tap, tap, tap. But there was nothing. Not surprising really. I was 7+ months pregnant and I still had to push down hard to feel the baby move. Instead of going about my usual day I stayed on the couch, pushing on my uterus, waiting for the tap, tap, tap. I spent my time reading my pregnancy books. I kept turning to the Miscarriage and Stillbirth page. One sentence over and over, "if your baby dies, you will know you are carrying a dead baby..." I kept asking myself, "does it feel like this?" But I remained silent. I didn't call my mom. I didn't call my husband. I didn't call my Dr. I just laid there detached and floating. Later that evening, my mother stopped by to make a date to go shopping for baby supplies. She asked me all excitedly, "
So are you ready for the baby to come?" I looked at her and blankly said, "No." I already knew I wasn't talking about the baby's arrival though.
To understand the following events you need to understand my life long fear of not being prepared. I can't go into any situation without already knowing what is going to happen. I had my first panic attack at 6 when I was about to start kindergarten because I didn't know what they were going to teach me. That is me in a nutshell. I have to rehearse everything.
Monday afternoon was my OB appt. It was about 7:00 am when I woke. Still not a word to anyone. I watched my husband ready himself for work, kissed him goodbye, laying still, still waiting for the tap, tap, tap. I got up and did my daily routine and then got ready to dress. As I opened the closet door I heard a voice that told me to "choose carefully because whatever you wear today you would never want to wear again." It startled me but instinctively understood. It made complete sense actually. I began dividing my wardrobe. "I like this one, I like that one, this one not so much..." I picked my least favorite and put it on. Baby blue with white stripes and a stupid bow. I hated bows on maternity clothes. Perhaps this was my silent revolution against bows. I turned to the mirror and sat to do my hair. The rehearsal began. I had to say it because I didn't want to hear it for the first time from someone else. I needed to know how it would sound. How it would feel. What my facial expression would look like.
"I'm sorry Mrs. J. your baby is dead."
I don't know how many times I said it, but I said it over and over again. With different emphasis on different words. Fast, slow. Staring into my eyes, staring at my hands still holding my stomach, still waiting for the tap, tap, tap. Buffering the shock. I didn't want it to be painful. I wanted it to be familiar. I didn't want to be held hostage to unexpected, uncontrolled emotion. Over, and over I chanted until my hair was beautiful and my makeup was perfect. I left early for my appt. Everything after that was... expected.
I exchange pleasantries with my midwife as I position myself on the table. Everything in slow motion. She placed the stethoscope on my belly. I looked intensely at her face, waiting. Waiting for her line. She kept moving the scope. Then I saw the slightest, momentary change in her expression. In medical school, I think they learn to rehearse too. She gently put her hand on my wrist and said, "I'll be right back." I said to her quite unemotionally, "Should I be scared?" I will never forget the look on the poor woman's face as she said, "I don't know hon." But I knew. I knew and I wanted to tell her but she left too quickly to find an empty ultrasound room. We walked in silence to the dressing room; she handed me a dressing gown without making eye contact with me and instructed me to come out when I was ready. I undressed throwing my ugly maternity dress in a heap on the floor, put on the gown with my ass hanging out the back and I sat down. On the wall across from me hung a painting of a woman in a long flowing gown, playing a piano with moonlight shining down on her through an open window. For a moment I thought that perhaps if I just sat there staring at the painting nothing else would exist. I could make everything else stop if I never came out of the booth. It made perfect sense to me. My midwife's voice interrupted my escape though asking if I was ready. I had to leave my sanctuary. Still in slow motion and laying in the dark I stared at the ceiling. Gel on my tummy, silence from the tech. Prompted by the midwife, the tech says,
"I detect no cardiac activity."
He turned off the machine and left without another word to either of us.
It was oddly comforting to know that I knew before he did. Then on cue I assumed my role. I sat up and cried but I felt no sorrow. She held me but I didn't need her to. Another Dr. came in and dispensed with the condolences. He told me he would have to get permission from a judge to induce my labor because I was so far along and there was a law, blah blah, blah...
After the labor and the loss and the emotions, which I had rehearsed so well that I didn't have to feel them, I lay in my bed looking out through the hospital blinds. Moonlight sparkled down on my sheets. I thought about the moonlight and the woman in the painting playing the piano silently forever and I wondered if she was just like me, rehearsing.
On my way home that night I felt my mind go crazy. I was trying to find the damned Fed Ex drop off and I didn't know where the hell I was going. Nothing was making sense to me, addresses were swirling around and I felt disoriented. I finally found it and started my drive home still crazy and wondering if my blood sugar had dropped dramatically. I have always had trouble with my blood sugar but being pregnant had caused it to become more intense and frequent. Usually though I can feel it coming long before the craziness sets in.
Getting home I decided that it was indeed my blood sugar. I threw together a bologna and cheese sandwich, white bread and tons of mayo. One of the blessings of pregnancy is not watching the calories and the fat. In a manic fit, I gobbled it down, hardly tasting it at all. I leaned back with a pillow wedged behind the small of my back and waited for the relief that always comes with the rising of my blood sugar. Not long after, seconds maybe, I felt sick. Violently sick. I stumbled into the bathroom and lost that sandwich mayo and all.
I laid my head down on the cool linoleum and began falling into some sort of dream state. I remember thinking about the night I got pregnant. He made me dinner and turned on the Righteous Brothers and BAM! I was pregnant. I remembered introducing him to my mother and wondering if anyone had ever heard the words, "boyfriend" "marriage" and "pregnant" in the same sentence. She was making pizza at the time and it didn't seem to interrupt her rhythm. I guess its true there is nothing new under the sun.
I laid there on the floor for what seemed like hours. I finally found the strength to get back to the couch. That was on a Friday in September. I felt strange that evening but I figured it was just from the vomiting. In the morning I felt odd. I felt detached. I felt quiet. I laid on the couch waiting for the baby to do its usual tap, tap, tap. But there was nothing. Not surprising really. I was 7+ months pregnant and I still had to push down hard to feel the baby move. Instead of going about my usual day I stayed on the couch, pushing on my uterus, waiting for the tap, tap, tap. I spent my time reading my pregnancy books. I kept turning to the Miscarriage and Stillbirth page. One sentence over and over, "if your baby dies, you will know you are carrying a dead baby..." I kept asking myself, "does it feel like this?" But I remained silent. I didn't call my mom. I didn't call my husband. I didn't call my Dr. I just laid there detached and floating. Later that evening, my mother stopped by to make a date to go shopping for baby supplies. She asked me all excitedly, "
So are you ready for the baby to come?" I looked at her and blankly said, "No." I already knew I wasn't talking about the baby's arrival though.
To understand the following events you need to understand my life long fear of not being prepared. I can't go into any situation without already knowing what is going to happen. I had my first panic attack at 6 when I was about to start kindergarten because I didn't know what they were going to teach me. That is me in a nutshell. I have to rehearse everything.
Monday afternoon was my OB appt. It was about 7:00 am when I woke. Still not a word to anyone. I watched my husband ready himself for work, kissed him goodbye, laying still, still waiting for the tap, tap, tap. I got up and did my daily routine and then got ready to dress. As I opened the closet door I heard a voice that told me to "choose carefully because whatever you wear today you would never want to wear again." It startled me but instinctively understood. It made complete sense actually. I began dividing my wardrobe. "I like this one, I like that one, this one not so much..." I picked my least favorite and put it on. Baby blue with white stripes and a stupid bow. I hated bows on maternity clothes. Perhaps this was my silent revolution against bows. I turned to the mirror and sat to do my hair. The rehearsal began. I had to say it because I didn't want to hear it for the first time from someone else. I needed to know how it would sound. How it would feel. What my facial expression would look like.
"I'm sorry Mrs. J. your baby is dead."
I don't know how many times I said it, but I said it over and over again. With different emphasis on different words. Fast, slow. Staring into my eyes, staring at my hands still holding my stomach, still waiting for the tap, tap, tap. Buffering the shock. I didn't want it to be painful. I wanted it to be familiar. I didn't want to be held hostage to unexpected, uncontrolled emotion. Over, and over I chanted until my hair was beautiful and my makeup was perfect. I left early for my appt. Everything after that was... expected.
I exchange pleasantries with my midwife as I position myself on the table. Everything in slow motion. She placed the stethoscope on my belly. I looked intensely at her face, waiting. Waiting for her line. She kept moving the scope. Then I saw the slightest, momentary change in her expression. In medical school, I think they learn to rehearse too. She gently put her hand on my wrist and said, "I'll be right back." I said to her quite unemotionally, "Should I be scared?" I will never forget the look on the poor woman's face as she said, "I don't know hon." But I knew. I knew and I wanted to tell her but she left too quickly to find an empty ultrasound room. We walked in silence to the dressing room; she handed me a dressing gown without making eye contact with me and instructed me to come out when I was ready. I undressed throwing my ugly maternity dress in a heap on the floor, put on the gown with my ass hanging out the back and I sat down. On the wall across from me hung a painting of a woman in a long flowing gown, playing a piano with moonlight shining down on her through an open window. For a moment I thought that perhaps if I just sat there staring at the painting nothing else would exist. I could make everything else stop if I never came out of the booth. It made perfect sense to me. My midwife's voice interrupted my escape though asking if I was ready. I had to leave my sanctuary. Still in slow motion and laying in the dark I stared at the ceiling. Gel on my tummy, silence from the tech. Prompted by the midwife, the tech says,
"I detect no cardiac activity."
He turned off the machine and left without another word to either of us.
It was oddly comforting to know that I knew before he did. Then on cue I assumed my role. I sat up and cried but I felt no sorrow. She held me but I didn't need her to. Another Dr. came in and dispensed with the condolences. He told me he would have to get permission from a judge to induce my labor because I was so far along and there was a law, blah blah, blah...
After the labor and the loss and the emotions, which I had rehearsed so well that I didn't have to feel them, I lay in my bed looking out through the hospital blinds. Moonlight sparkled down on my sheets. I thought about the moonlight and the woman in the painting playing the piano silently forever and I wondered if she was just like me, rehearsing.
Labels: stillbirth
posted by nina michelle at 11:06 AM
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