Page 272 of Tell Me I'm Enough

I look over to the waiting room full of people and very few seats open, then look back to Lani, panicking a little because I really don’t want to have to sit in some chair, in a puddle of my blood, next to strangers.

My eyes widen when I feel more warmth between my legs, and Lani must see the panic on my face because she turns and finds the first nurse walking by, wheeling someone through the double doors, stopping her. She says something quietly to herso no one else can hear, then the nurse looks over to me, face going a little pale before she rights her expression and tells Lani they’re going to fast-track me and get me straight into a temporary room.

Relief floods me, thankful that I don’t have to deal with the humiliation that would have been sitting out there.

As another nurse grabs us, she asks if Lani is family, and she immediately answers that she’s my sister. The nurse doesn’t ask questions anymore; she just takes us both back to the first freed-up bed they have.

They immediately start doing all the medical things—IV line, blood work, pain meds, and a lot of questions.

“How long has the bleeding been going on?”

“When was your last period?”

“Are you sexually active?”

My face feels hot as I nod.

Lani stays beside me, not even sitting down in the chair.

It feels like we’re waiting for hours after they leave.

Lani texts Lydia, just telling her that she and I went out shopping for the day and would be back later.

The meds are finally starting to help with the pain just enough that I’m no longer putting nail marks in the bed railings.

They come back and do an internal ultrasound that feels like the worst kind of violation when I’m in this much pain still. And then eventually, after what feels like forever, the doctor comes in, holding a clipboard, and pulling out her rolling chair to sit down in front of me.

“Ms. Edwards,” she says gently. “I’m sorry, but all tests have come back showing that you’re experiencing a miscarriage.”

The word I had been secretly denying, even though I was kind of prepared to hear, still hits me like a shot to the chest.

“No,” I whisper in disbelief.

My eyes feel like they’re stinging, like they want to cry, but I don’t know why. I don’t know why I feel so emotional hearing that confirmed, hearing that really be what was happening.

“The HCG in your blood test indicates that you were around seven to eight weeks along.”

Two months?

I was two months pregnant…

“I—I didn’t know.”

She places her hand on top of mine, and I can feel the soft wrinkles on her skin. The contact is soothing, but it doesn’t stop the sudden pain in my chest.

“With the irregular cycles you mentioned, it makes sense that you wouldn’t have known. You didn’t do anything wrong. These things are often completely out of our control.”

This baby that I had no idea even existed until now is already being ripped away from me.

“There’s significant bleeding, and it looks like there’s some retained tissue,” she continues. “The safest option would be for us to perform a D&C today.”

I stare at her. “A…procedure?”

“Yes,” she says, carefully. “It’s common, and pretty quick. But I know it can be emotionally difficult for some people.”

Emotionally difficult.

That feels like the understatement of the century.