The Rehearsal
note: this was written several years ago during a time that I belonged to a writing group. We would assign words each week and we would have to use them in a piece. It was supposed to teach discipline. I am not good at being told what to write. I write in fits and starts. I could be standing in the middle of a war zone and be compelled to sit down and write a poem about gardening... this one turned out to be cathartic for me though. I like when that happens.
On my way home I felt my mind go crazy. I had to find the damned Fed Ex drop off and I didn't know where the hell I was going. It had to go out that night. Finally I find it and drop the letter off. Then I drove home still crazy and wondering if my blood sugar had dropped too low. Usually I can feel it coming long before the craziness sets it.
Getting home I decided that it is indeed my blood sugar. I throw together a bologna and cheese sandwich on white with tons of mayo. One of the blessings of pregnancy is not watching the calories and the fat. I gobble it up and then leaned back with my pillow wedged into the small of my back. I closed my eyes and was certain the expected feeling of blood sugar stabilization would follow. Not long after, it felt like seconds but it might have been minutes, I felt sick. I felt violently sick. I stumbled into the bathroom where I lost that sandwich mayo and all. Never had I thrown up food so soon after eating it. I groaned loudly about how awful pregnancy was. Blah , blah, blah...as if I really knew what pregnancy was all about.
My pregnancy started on a February night in 1987. I had met this guy just weeks before on New Year's Eve. He actually liked me. Points for him. He wined me and dined me. He sent me flowers with a note that said, "I might not say it but I feel it" More points for him. Then he turned on The Righteous Brothers and BAM! baby. I introduce this guy to my mother wondering if anyone else ever used the words "boyfriend" "marriage" and "pregnant" in the same sentence. I still remember she was making pizza.
Lying there on the linoleum of the bathroom I felt dizzy. It was as if the earth was moving but I knew it was just me. I found comfort in the cold floor against my cheek. I stayed there on the floor, it felt like hours but it was really only minutes until the dizziness was gone. I got up and sat on the couch.
That was on a Friday in September. I felt strange that evening but it was not unexpected after the sandwich episode. In the morning I felt funny. I felt detached. I felt quiet. I lay on the couch waiting for the baby to do its usual tap, tap, tap. But there was nothing. Not surprising really. I was 7+ months pregnant and I still had to push down hard to feel it move. But instead of going about my usual day I stayed on the couch, pushing. Later that evening I began opening my pregnancy books and reluctantly turning to the Miscarriage and Stillbirth sections. One sentence kept haunting me, "If your baby dies, you will know you are carrying a dead baby..." I would ask myself, "Do I feel similar to this? What about this, or that?" But I didn't tell a soul. The closest I came was when my mother stopped by that Sunday to make a shopping date with me. She said to me "So are you ready?" I looked at her and said, "No." But I wasn't talking about my baby's arrival. I was talking about my future.
To understand the following events you need to understand my life long fear of not being prepared. I can't go into any situation without already knowing what is going to happen. I panicked at the thought of going to kindergarten because I didn't know what they were going to teach me. That is me in a nutshell. I must rehearse to be ready.
Monday afternoon was my OB appt. It was about 7:00am when I woke. Laying still. Still waiting for the tap, tap, tap. But I knew there would be no tap, tap, tap. I got up and did my dailies. Then I began dressing. As I opened the closet door I hear a voice that tells me to choose carefully because whatever I wear today I would never want to wear again. I was startled but not really surprised. Truthfully, it seemed like the natural thing to do. I began dividing my wardrobe. I like it, I don't like it, I like it, I don't like it. Then I picked my least favorite and put it on. Baby blue with white stripes and a stupid bow. I hated bows on maternity clothes. Perhaps this was my silent revolution against bows? I turned to the mirror and sat to do my hair. The rehearsal began. I had to say it because I didn't want to hear it for the first time from someone else. I needed to know how it would sound. How it would feel. "I'm sorry Mrs J. Your baby is dead" I don't know how many times I said it. But I said it over and over and over. Trying to buffer the shock. I didn't want it to be painful. I wanted it to be familiar. Over and over until my hair was beautiful and my make up was perfect. I left early for my appointment. Everything after that was...expected.
I exchange pleasantries with my midwife as I position myself on the table. Everything in slow motion. She is placing the stethoscope on my belly. I am looking intensely at her face, waiting. Waiting for her line. She keeps moving the scope. We hear a heartbeat and for a moment my heart jumped. "It was all stupid! You are wrong! You are stupid!" Then she says, "I'll be back." I grabbed her arm and say, "Should I be scared?" I will never forget the look on that poor woman's face as she said, "I don't know." But I knew. I knew and I wanted to tell her but she left to find an empty ultrasound room. We walk in silence to the dressing room and she hands me a gown instructing me to come out when I am ready. I undress, put on the robe and then I sit there. I remember looking at these stupid paintings with woman playing a piano with moonlight shining down on her through an open window. For a moment I believed that if I sat there forever staring at these paintings nothing else would exist. I could make everything else stop if I never came out of the booth. It made complete sense to me. But my midwife asked me if I were ready. I had to go. Still in slow motion and in the dark I stare at the ceiling while the tech started. I wouldn't look at their faces but I already knew their expressions. Promped by the midwife the tech says. "I can detect no cardiac activity." It all seems so similar to something I have already been through before. It was oddly comforting to me to know I knew before he did. He leaves abruptly and I begin to act out my role. I cry but I don't feel sorrow. She holds me but I don't need her to. It felt like hours, but it was only minutes. She introduced me to Dr somebody who dispenses with the condolences then tells me that he must get permission to induce my labor because I was so far along and there was a law...blah, blah, blah.
After the labor and the loss and emotions, which I had rehearsed so well that I didn't have to feel them, I lay in my bed looking out through the blinds. Moonlight sparkled down on my sheets. I thought about the moonlight and the woman in the painting playing the piano silently forever. I wondered if she was just like me, just rehearsing.
On my way home I felt my mind go crazy. I had to find the damned Fed Ex drop off and I didn't know where the hell I was going. It had to go out that night. Finally I find it and drop the letter off. Then I drove home still crazy and wondering if my blood sugar had dropped too low. Usually I can feel it coming long before the craziness sets it.
Getting home I decided that it is indeed my blood sugar. I throw together a bologna and cheese sandwich on white with tons of mayo. One of the blessings of pregnancy is not watching the calories and the fat. I gobble it up and then leaned back with my pillow wedged into the small of my back. I closed my eyes and was certain the expected feeling of blood sugar stabilization would follow. Not long after, it felt like seconds but it might have been minutes, I felt sick. I felt violently sick. I stumbled into the bathroom where I lost that sandwich mayo and all. Never had I thrown up food so soon after eating it. I groaned loudly about how awful pregnancy was. Blah , blah, blah...as if I really knew what pregnancy was all about.
My pregnancy started on a February night in 1987. I had met this guy just weeks before on New Year's Eve. He actually liked me. Points for him. He wined me and dined me. He sent me flowers with a note that said, "I might not say it but I feel it" More points for him. Then he turned on The Righteous Brothers and BAM! baby. I introduce this guy to my mother wondering if anyone else ever used the words "boyfriend" "marriage" and "pregnant" in the same sentence. I still remember she was making pizza.
Lying there on the linoleum of the bathroom I felt dizzy. It was as if the earth was moving but I knew it was just me. I found comfort in the cold floor against my cheek. I stayed there on the floor, it felt like hours but it was really only minutes until the dizziness was gone. I got up and sat on the couch.
That was on a Friday in September. I felt strange that evening but it was not unexpected after the sandwich episode. In the morning I felt funny. I felt detached. I felt quiet. I lay on the couch waiting for the baby to do its usual tap, tap, tap. But there was nothing. Not surprising really. I was 7+ months pregnant and I still had to push down hard to feel it move. But instead of going about my usual day I stayed on the couch, pushing. Later that evening I began opening my pregnancy books and reluctantly turning to the Miscarriage and Stillbirth sections. One sentence kept haunting me, "If your baby dies, you will know you are carrying a dead baby..." I would ask myself, "Do I feel similar to this? What about this, or that?" But I didn't tell a soul. The closest I came was when my mother stopped by that Sunday to make a shopping date with me. She said to me "So are you ready?" I looked at her and said, "No." But I wasn't talking about my baby's arrival. I was talking about my future.
To understand the following events you need to understand my life long fear of not being prepared. I can't go into any situation without already knowing what is going to happen. I panicked at the thought of going to kindergarten because I didn't know what they were going to teach me. That is me in a nutshell. I must rehearse to be ready.
Monday afternoon was my OB appt. It was about 7:00am when I woke. Laying still. Still waiting for the tap, tap, tap. But I knew there would be no tap, tap, tap. I got up and did my dailies. Then I began dressing. As I opened the closet door I hear a voice that tells me to choose carefully because whatever I wear today I would never want to wear again. I was startled but not really surprised. Truthfully, it seemed like the natural thing to do. I began dividing my wardrobe. I like it, I don't like it, I like it, I don't like it. Then I picked my least favorite and put it on. Baby blue with white stripes and a stupid bow. I hated bows on maternity clothes. Perhaps this was my silent revolution against bows? I turned to the mirror and sat to do my hair. The rehearsal began. I had to say it because I didn't want to hear it for the first time from someone else. I needed to know how it would sound. How it would feel. "I'm sorry Mrs J. Your baby is dead" I don't know how many times I said it. But I said it over and over and over. Trying to buffer the shock. I didn't want it to be painful. I wanted it to be familiar. Over and over until my hair was beautiful and my make up was perfect. I left early for my appointment. Everything after that was...expected.
I exchange pleasantries with my midwife as I position myself on the table. Everything in slow motion. She is placing the stethoscope on my belly. I am looking intensely at her face, waiting. Waiting for her line. She keeps moving the scope. We hear a heartbeat and for a moment my heart jumped. "It was all stupid! You are wrong! You are stupid!" Then she says, "I'll be back." I grabbed her arm and say, "Should I be scared?" I will never forget the look on that poor woman's face as she said, "I don't know." But I knew. I knew and I wanted to tell her but she left to find an empty ultrasound room. We walk in silence to the dressing room and she hands me a gown instructing me to come out when I am ready. I undress, put on the robe and then I sit there. I remember looking at these stupid paintings with woman playing a piano with moonlight shining down on her through an open window. For a moment I believed that if I sat there forever staring at these paintings nothing else would exist. I could make everything else stop if I never came out of the booth. It made complete sense to me. But my midwife asked me if I were ready. I had to go. Still in slow motion and in the dark I stare at the ceiling while the tech started. I wouldn't look at their faces but I already knew their expressions. Promped by the midwife the tech says. "I can detect no cardiac activity." It all seems so similar to something I have already been through before. It was oddly comforting to me to know I knew before he did. He leaves abruptly and I begin to act out my role. I cry but I don't feel sorrow. She holds me but I don't need her to. It felt like hours, but it was only minutes. She introduced me to Dr somebody who dispenses with the condolences then tells me that he must get permission to induce my labor because I was so far along and there was a law...blah, blah, blah.
After the labor and the loss and emotions, which I had rehearsed so well that I didn't have to feel them, I lay in my bed looking out through the blinds. Moonlight sparkled down on my sheets. I thought about the moonlight and the woman in the painting playing the piano silently forever. I wondered if she was just like me, just rehearsing.
posted by nina michelle at 9:44 AM
