eyes before my tear ducts erupted. Two months in and the pregnancy hormones were already working overtime. I blew my nose and re-powdered my face. Might as well pee too, since I was already in there. As I pulled on the toilet paper, I noticed a very bright dot on the center of my very plain underwear.
So much for not bursting into tears.
A knock came on the door. “Lex, you okay?”
“Get in here,” I yelled to Rich through my sobs, not caring if I sounded hysterical.
“It’s okay,” he said after closing the door behind him. “No one cares about the food.”
“Look!” I showed him my underwear and the pea-sized spot.
His eyes widened like flying saucers. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Yes…no. I don’t know.”
He knelt in front of me and pulled me to him. “What can I do?”
Managing to calm myself down and think somewhat rationally, I asked, “Can you get my pregnancy book from the night stand?” I thought I’d read about spotting in the first trimester.
Rich brought the book to me and I flipped to one of the early chapters. “Pink spotting is common during the first trimester, and is usually caused by the egg implanting in the lining of the uterus.”
“But this is bright red.” Rich stated the obvious.
I scanned further down the page. “The most frightening type of spotting or bleeding during the first trimester is fresh blood, or bright red. While this can be serious, it is not always confirmation that a miscarriage is occurring.”
Rich’s face turned a vampire shade of pale, without the sparkliness.
“Many things can cause bright red spotting or bleeding. If you are experiencing cramping or clotting, this could signify something serious. Seek medical care immediately.”
“Are you cramping?”
“No. I feel fine…normal.”
“Then, what should we do?”
“I don’t know. We have a house full of people. And my doctor’s office is closed.”
“We can go to the hospital.”
I thought for a minute. “No. It’s okay. It’s probably nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
“This is Preston’s big day. I’m not gonna ruin it.” I wiped and looked at the toilet paper. Nothing. I held it up. “See. It’s done. No more blood.”
Chapter 3
I freshened up, hoping no one could tell I’d been crying, and rejoined the party like nothing had happened. I sat with Preston on my lap as we opened fun new toys and clothes and the tricycle Rich and I had picked out. Camera flashes sparked from all over the room with wide smiles behind each and every one.
Cake time, and I sat Preston on the dining room table with a huge sugary confection glowing in front of him. With the smell of butter cream frosting in the air, our family and friends started an off-pitch rendition of Happy Birthday to You, and a small pain jabbed at my stomach. I met Rich’s gaze on the other side of the table. He noticed my panicked expression and his wide smile went flat.
As the room continued with “Happy birthday dear Preston,” the pain sharpened, like a shard of glass being jammed into my mid-section. I gripped one of the dining room chairs and fought to stay on my feet. Me crippling over in pain would only cause mass hysteria. And I didn’t want that for my boy’s big day.
Rich made it to my side before the song had ended. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I answered, cheers erupting.
I grabbed Marcus’s arm. “I…um…need to run to the store.”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
Maybe he sensed something was wrong. I’m sure the expressions on my face and Rich’s were a giveaway. He said, “Okay,” and turned his attention back to the table and the birthday boy.
By the time Rich and I got into a cab, my underwear was soaked through. With blood. Intense cramping continued to hammer at my abdomen, in waves, like labor.
Forty-five minutes later, we sat in the ER exam room waiting for the on-call obstetrician to come in. But my pains had slowed considerably. That had to be a good thing, right?
A stout man with graying hair came in, followed by a woman wheeling a machine. I recognized it immediately–an ultrasound machine.
He didn’t say much, aside from “Hello. I’m Dr. Leiman,” and after sticking his hand inside me, asked if it hurt when he pressed on my stomach. It didn’t.
The ultrasound tech lubed the wand and inserted it. She moved it around and fiddled with the machine, and I struggled to interpret the grainy screen. It was dark and blank and silent. I didn’t hear the whump whump whump of a baby’s heartbeat. Maybe this ultrasound machine didn’t have sound.
The doctor turned to me. “I’m sorry Ms. Marshall. You’ve lost your baby.”
“No, that can’t be right. The pains have weakened. I feel better now.”
“I think you’re through the worst of it.” He turned to the screen and pointed to a gray blob. “See this here?”
I nodded.
“That’s most likely the fetus. But there’s no heartbeat.”
I strained my eyes, praying for something on the screen to move or blink or do something so this nightmare would end.
“You’ll continue to bleed for at least a week, maybe longer. And you’ll most likely expel some clots.”
Rich squeezed my hand so hard I thought he might break it.
The doctor removed his gloves. “We might need to wait a few days, but I don’t see the need for a D and C.”
“What’s that?” I wasn’t all up on the miscarriage lingo.
“It stands for dilation and curettage. Basically, if the tissue isn’t expelled, we need to go in and scrape your uterus.”
“Oh.” It sounded horrific.
“You said you were only eight to nine weeks. That’s very early in a pregnancy. We’ll do a blood test to check your HCG levels, but I want you to follow up with your OB. They’ll probably do more bloodwork to make sure the levels are decreasing like they should be. Take it easy a few days.” He stood and fidgeted with his white coat–his name embroidered in blue across the left side. “Do you have any questions?”
I shook my head. I couldn’t form even one cohesive thought. My body and brain were shutting down. Even my tear ducts had stopped working. Complete numbness had taken over and it wouldn’t even allow me to cry.
“Why did this happen?” Rich asked. His voice was strained, the way someone sounded when they were trying to talk and hold back sobs at the same time. The sight of his water-logged eyes jolted mine into perfect working order.
“I wish I had an answer,” the doctor said. “Most likely a genetic abnormality. Sometimes these things just happen. But many women go on to have healthy pregnancies after a miscarriage.”
He left, with the ultrasound tech right behind, and the room became eerily silent. How could an ER exam room be this crypt-like? On TV there was always some kind of drama, someone running around and breaking the silence.
Rich pulled the chair to the bed and sat down, laying his head on my lap. I stroked his hair as he cried, feeling utterly helpless. Tears cascaded down my own cheeks, but I felt the need to try and be strong. I couldn’t let myself break into a million