Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
I’m pregnant and I’m bleeding. Two things that I know are never supposed to happen at the same time.
I can hardly get out the words I haven’t managed to tell Clay. “I… I… I’m…preg…preg… Pregnant.”
Before I know it, the nurse has me lying on the bed and she’s carefully removing my clothes to place a hospital gown on me. I sob through the whole process. When another doctor tells me she needs to do an ultrasound, I can only manage a nod.
There’s a flurry of activity before the cool gel and wand are on my stomach, and a stark silence follows.
There is no whoosh. No flutter of a tiny heartbeat. No sign of movement from my little bean at all.
I know before the doctor tells me. I know with a sharp, white-hot pain.
I lost the baby.
46
Josie
Friday, November 25th
Machines beep and buzz, and a nurse hangs a bag of fresh fluids on the little metal hanger thingie that connects to Clay’s IV.
The clock reads 1:02 a.m., and even though we were just at Bennett’s house for Thanksgiving dinner this afternoon, I feel like I’ve lived ten lifetimes since then.
Clay’s monitors hum around us, and I sit on the edge of my chair in a pair of maroon scrubs the nurse gave me, his big hand clamped in between both of mine. He’s still out, and I find myself praying yet again that he’ll wake up soon.
Please God. Please. I need him now more than ever.
Two hours ago, Dr. Sarens came into the emergency room that I was still sitting in while the doctor who did my ultrasound finished her assessment. He told me Clay was out of surgery and in the PACU recovering and that the surgery went well. Apparently, the glass had nicked his spleen and that was the culprit for all the blood, but he was able to repair the damage and stop the bleeding immediately.
Clay will have to be monitored in the ICU closely because of the overt risk associated with that much blood loss and emergency surgery, but overall, he’s doing well. Or so the doctor says.
Until he wakes up himself and tells me he’s okay, I’m having a hard time believing it.
His handsome face showcases bruises and scrapes—most likely from the airbags and all the glass—but his beautiful brown eyes are still hidden behind his lids.
Please wake up. Please, please wake up.
Tears stream down my cheeks, a flow unchecked by time or supply, and I squeeze his hand. “I love you. Please come back to me.”
He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t do anything but lie there while fluid runs into his IV and machines monitor his heart and lungs. Beneath his gown, a large bandage covers his abdomen where the glass pierced his skin and Dr. Sarens had to perform surgery. His feet are bare, and when I notice they are just barely peeking out from the stark white sheet covering his body, I stand up and adjust them.
I feel helpless, and that feeling only gets worse when I feel a gush of blood leave my body. Right now, I’m losing the baby I haven’t even told Clay about. More tears stream down my face as I think about what could’ve been.
And I think about the little baby that I didn’t get to meet. The baby I had started to feel like was a little boy. A baby I had started to wonder if would have Clay’s warm brown eyes or my green ones. Would they have had my blond curls or his dark, thick locks?
Would they have been as outgoing and lovable as Clay?
What would it have been like watching Clay hold our baby for the first time?
So many questions that will never be answered. So much love already felt for the tiny baby I never got to meet. So much sadness inside my heart for not telling Clay the instant I found out.
I can’t even fathom how I’ll be able to tell him now. It seems cruel and vindictive—like I’d be breaking his heart for no reason other than to feel less alone.
I can’t stop the flow of tears as my mind swirls with grief and guilt and fear. All I want is for him to wake up, and I don’t know if he will.
Another gush of blood leaves my body, and I know I’m going to have to get up from this chair soon to change the pad one of the nurses gave me. But I don’t want to leave Clay, and I don’t want to face the blood of the precious little one I’ll never get to hold in my arms.
I shake my head to stave off a scream.
Everything I thought was a big deal feels so stupid now—so painfully insignificant.
When I really think about it, I have to face that it’s me always letting people down.