Dr. Paulson removed the transducer, handed it to her nurse, and rolled around next to my head.
I removed my hands and opened my eyes to see her giving me a thoughtful expression.
“Most of the time the fetus stops developing because of a chromosomal defect, but it’s hard to tell. Just know it’s not your fault.”
It felt like it was. This was my penance. “What happens now?”
“Since you’re in the first twelve weeks, it’s best to let nature take its course. To allow the pregnancy tissue to pass on its own. But if you would like, we can schedule a D&C to surgically remove the tissue.”
Surgery seemed so permanent and daunting. But technically I was further along, so what did that mean? Should I go that route? I couldn’t ask that, and I hated it. I hated this all. “How long does it take to pass naturally?”
“It’s hard to predict—usually a few days to a couple of weeks. Once it starts, you’ll probably have a couple days of heavy bleeding and cramping, then that should taper off. However, if you start to fill more than two pads an hour or pass clots bigger than golf balls, call the office immediately.”
I nodded, hardly comprehending what she was saying.
“Do you want me to call your husband?”
That snapped me out of my head. “No.” Brock wouldn’t care. In fact, this would be welcome news to him. No more baby. No more me. No more husband.
~*~
I went to the only place I could think of—the loft. Thankfully, Kinsley wasn’t there. I needed to be alone and try to process. For weeks, the only thing that had gotten me through it all was knowing that in the end I would have a child of my own. A child I already loved. Now, I had nothing. It was all for nothing. I’d lost my freedom, my two best friends, the love of my life, and now my baby. And after losing so much, I would gain nothing in return.
I sat down on the old burnt orange couch, staring off into space, feeling numb. For a moment, I felt as if I didn’t exist. Even the painful cramping didn’t register. My only link to reality came from the angry buzzing of my phone. Over and over and over it vibrated. It finally got annoying enough that I reached into my bag to see who it was. Brock’s name was flashing at me on the cracked screen. My thumb hovered over the answer button. I debated about answering and telling Brock his services were no longer needed. He could have his name back. But I was so tired. And I couldn’t stand the thought of him being relieved while I was heartbroken.
I turned the phone off and tossed it on the coffee table. It was then I noticed the empty wineglasses and strawberry tops scattered all over a platter on the table in front of me. My guess was that they were the remnants of chocolate-covered strawberries. I mustered up a smile for my sister. She and Tristan had been spending every spare moment they had together since Friday night. Tristan had even extended his trip so he could spend more time with her. It was exactly what Kinsley needed—a man to put her first. To hear the giddiness in her voice when she’d called to tell me her good news yesterday was like a healing balm to my soul. I needed some of that now.
Tired and unsure what to do, I kicked off my shoes and lay on the couch, pulling an old afghan over me. I felt like a ticking time bomb, but the lack of sleep from the night before coupled with my emotional state had my body begging for rest. I closed my eyes, my mind reeling and feeling so lost. Sleep, though, overtook me, giving me some respite.
I don’t know how long I slept, but I woke up to a sharp pain in my abdomen and a gush of blood so heavy it soaked right through the pad I had put on before I’d left the doctor’s office. I bolted up. My pants and the couch were covered in blood. Before I could feel bad about ruining the couch, something told me I should run to the bathroom and not worry about the stain. When I got there, more blood gushed out. This was nothing like a period—it was more like a scene out of a horror movie. I was certain I was filling more than two pads an hour. Yet there was no way I was leaving the toilet to grab my phone.
Dr. Paulson should have better prepared me for the onslaught of pain and the amount of blood I was losing. I was doubled over, begging for relief. And every time I thought I might be able to leave and get my phone to call for help, more blood would gush out.