The seconds kept ticking, the nurse kept rushing around me.
The minutes were passing, the doctor kept speaking.
I felt as if I was transfixed in that moment. But my body kept moving.
Everything since that moment has been a blur. Telling people about the miscarriage. Talking to doctors about what to expect. Calling family to tell them that at 203grams, 18 weeks old, my cousin’s baby had passed away, with the tiniest toes I had ever seen in my life. Its all been a haze that my body has rushed through. The rest of me has still been in that moment.
The water gushed out of her. I still don’t know if she cried out because of the pain or the fear of seeing that deep red stream start trickling down her knee. The doctor called the time of death hours later, but since that moment, the little bundle i was looking forward to meeting was dead.
I was by her bedside throughout the checkups. Through the 4 packets of blood, litres of IV, platelets they pumped in her. I was there when they first said the word miscarriage. I smiled and laughed with her through the grief as we pretended the most important thing in our lives was how the room looked nothing like the ones on Grey’s Anatomy. Time has moved on but I wonder if she’s still stuck in that moment like me. If even though her lips are forming a smile, her heart is still caught in the fear it felt in that moment. Is the tear i saw rolling down her cheek in that moment is still there, sunk into her skin.