I felt insanely guilty - I had obviously done something wrong that caused the baby to die. I was never religious enough to believe in God but he seemed to be the easiest person to blame at the time. He could take appreciation for everyone's good deeds, why not the bad deeds as well?
I couldn't think of breaking the news to anyone. Why should anyone else have to know? It would be much easier to stay in bed and cry, mourning my baby. I couldn't face looking Will in the eyes and telling him that I lost the baby. I couldn't deal with the anguish in his eyes as he would cry for the baby, maybe even for me. He would look into my puffy pink face and feel my pain. He would say, "Will you be okay?" And I would promise to be, very soon.
Hours later I finally called the doctor and told him quietly. He didn't understand what I was saying at first, since my voice was still hoarse from crying. I had to painfully repeat it a few times until he could piece everything together finally. "Oh my, I am so sorry," he said. "Alma, just lay down with a hot water bottle on your stomach and ring your husband. Does he know yet?"
"No," I murmured. My hand was still on my stomach.
"Call him, then. I think he'd rather hear it from you than the doctor."
"I suppose."
He could hear the emptiness of my voice and my sniffling over the line. I hoped he did feel my pain. I felt bitterness creep into my thoughts as I thought of how he would never know what pain his patients went through, since he was a man. He didn't know what it was like to realize your period was late and be seized with fear as you drove to the pharmacy. What it was like to see the pink plus sign on a plastic stick. The nine months afterwards would be lost on his conscience as well. But, I thought sourly, they would be lost on mine as well now, wouldn't they?
Instead of calling Will I called Zay. I listened to the monotonous ringing, awaiting his soothing voice. The more it rang the more panic began to claw at my conscience. He was the only one I could trust right now, I felt.
I couldn't think of breaking the news to anyone. Why should anyone else have to know? It would be much easier to stay in bed and cry, mourning my baby. I couldn't face looking Will in the eyes and telling him that I lost the baby. I couldn't deal with the anguish in his eyes as he would cry for the baby, maybe even for me. He would look into my puffy pink face and feel my pain. He would say, "Will you be okay?" And I would promise to be, very soon.
Hours later I finally called the doctor and told him quietly. He didn't understand what I was saying at first, since my voice was still hoarse from crying. I had to painfully repeat it a few times until he could piece everything together finally. "Oh my, I am so sorry," he said. "Alma, just lay down with a hot water bottle on your stomach and ring your husband. Does he know yet?"
"No," I murmured. My hand was still on my stomach.
"Call him, then. I think he'd rather hear it from you than the doctor."
"I suppose."
He could hear the emptiness of my voice and my sniffling over the line. I hoped he did feel my pain. I felt bitterness creep into my thoughts as I thought of how he would never know what pain his patients went through, since he was a man. He didn't know what it was like to realize your period was late and be seized with fear as you drove to the pharmacy. What it was like to see the pink plus sign on a plastic stick. The nine months afterwards would be lost on his conscience as well. But, I thought sourly, they would be lost on mine as well now, wouldn't they?
Instead of calling Will I called Zay. I listened to the monotonous ringing, awaiting his soothing voice. The more it rang the more panic began to claw at my conscience. He was the only one I could trust right now, I felt.
