He was losing consciousness by trying to give me strength.
“His name is Lucian,” I said as I followed the gurney out of the ER lobby.
I was still holding his hand, hoping I could give him some comfort. He was fighting it, I could tell, trying to keep his eyes open. He seemed so human, but I knew he wasn’t. I wondered what kind of tests they would run on him and if they would somehow be able to tell that he was something other than a man.
The nurse who had been pushing me in the wheelchair earlier was urging me to sit back down. I let go of Lucian’s hand, and his eyes shot open.
“I’m sorry,” he mouthed.
I collapsed into the chair, and then Lucian and I were wheeled in different directions. I had to have a vaginal ultrasound to confirm that my baby no longer had a heartbeat. My baby was dead and gone… again. I felt naked inside and out, vulnerable, alone, sick to my stomach, depressed. I missed Lucian and couldn’t stop thinking about how he must have been feeling. I yearned for him to be there with me.
Probing my bleeding insides, the man watched a screen and said without any compassion, “There’s nothing in there.”
“Excuse me?”
He glanced at my face quickly before looking back at the screen. Pointing at something, he said, “That’s your uterus, and there’s nothing in there.”
I wondered whether I should thank him or punch him. It was like déjà vu, being in that situation, in pain and not knowing how to act, whether to be angry or sad. They wheeled me into another room to recover, except this time I was alone. The nurse asked if I wanted pain medication, and I told her no. A male doctor I had never met came in and said that I had miscarried and that everything was fine. But it wasn’t. What a poor choice of words. I had just miscarried. Everything wasn’t fine.
“What’s wrong with me?” I asked.
He squinted, looking confused.
When he opened his mouth to speak, I interrupted him. “This is my second miscarriage. Why is this happening?”
He cleared his throat. “We contacted your OBGYN, so you’ll want to follow up with her, but miscarriages are very common. Consider it your body’s way of ridding what would likely be an unviable fetus.”
Unviable fetus?Again, poor choice of words. “But it already had a heartbeat.”
He approached the head of the bed. He put his cold hand on my arm. “I’m very sorry this happened to you. Try to look at it as a blessing.”
“A blessing?” He nodded, and I shook my head. “Will you please give me an update on my husband, Lucian Casey?”
“Sure. I’ll be right back.”
No one returned. A half an hour later, I was buzzing the nurses station like a lunatic. Yet another nurse I had never seen before, wearing Pepto-colored scrubs, came skipping in, her ponytail swinging from left to right as if her hair itself was happy being attached to her head. I wanted to throw a puke bowl at her.
“I asked the doctor a half an hour ago for an update on my husband.”
“Your husband is Lucian, right?”
She was smiling and on a first-name basis with him, so I knew he was fine. From the blush hitting her cheeks and the glimmer in her eye, I could tell he’d been laying the charm on from his damned hospital bed.
“Yes,” I said pointedly.
“He’s doing really well. They’ve done an MRI and it was clear, so they’re running more blood tests now. We’re just waiting for the results.”
“Can I go see him? Can you wheel me to him?”
“Sure. He’s a little loopy, just so you know. He’s on a high dosage of anti-seizure and pain medication.”
I just shrugged, so she left the room and returned a moment later with a wheelchair. She wheeled me to the last room at the end of the hall. There he was, looking so mortal with an IV, a hospital gown, and a loopy grin.
“Heya, gorgeous,” he slurred.
I was wearing hospital-issued underwear, a giant Maxi pad, and a backless hospital gown, but I didn’t care. I crawled into his bed, right into the crook of his arm where I’ve always existed.
“Ah, come here,” he said, kissing my forehead and pulling me closer.
