Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget
falls drop by drop upon the heart,
until, in our own despair,
against our will,
through the awful grace of God.
Memories hit me when I least expect it, or sometimes on days like today when I do expect it, and I still lose myself in them. But the types of memories are changing.
During the first procedure when I was laying on the bed. I had said my goodbye to The Husband and it was just me, the doctor, nurse and anesthesiologist. In two days it will be four years since this happened, but when I call it up it plays back in my mind like a familiar movie. I was nervous and scared and sad – I had never had stitches, never mind being put under. I looked around and said ‘I’m scared’ and the nurse, Stephanie, grabbed my hand and said “It’s okay” and that is the last thing I remember.
During the second procedure, laying in the same room. Dr. R looked at my ruby ring and mentioned how pretty it is. I told her why I bought it – for our first baby, who would have been due the past July. I remember her sad smile and the look in her eyes. A few months ago I wrote her a letter, because I never thanked her. It may seem odd to thank the doctor who ended two of your wanted pregnancies, but I was thankful I had the choice and a highly skilled doctor to perform the procedures. If not for that choice and doctors like her, where would I have been? I don’t know. So I wrote her to express that to her.
Before the third procedure, laying in the bed. Telling the nurse, Caitlin, how thirsty and hungry I was. Wondering how long the delay would last. She told me that when I was out of the procedure and awake she would have toast and coffee or tea waiting for me – I asked for tea. She said she makes amazing tea and it would be the best tea I ever had. It was. Occasionally, when making my nightly cup of tea, I think of her. Seeing Dr. T a few minutes later – a few minutes after the calming medications had kicked in – and telling her how nice her teeth were – so straight, so white and I hadn’t noticed until then.
I remember laying in bed four years ago tonight. So nervous, so sad. The Husband came in and kneeled by the bed to talk to me, trying his best to be optimistic. Telling me that maybe I was just dehydrated, or maybe the baby was just in a bad position, or maybe the ultrasound tech didn’t know what she was doing. I remember laying there curled up, staring at the television. I knew it wasn’t any of that. I knew the next day wouldn’t bring me good news. I just knew. He doesn’t remember the date but I do.