Remember, Remember the 11th of November

Content Warning: Miscarriage, pregnancy loss, and grief.

A sudden rush of cold cascaded over Jaime as the triage doors opened to the deserted waiting room. The hallway beyond was barren and bright as the stark white tile reflected the overhead fluorescent lights.

She looked over at the empty doors in confusion.

None of the nurses hurried in or out, and Jaime's lips pursed with impatient longing. She had already been here 45 minutes and had spoken to no one after they took her blood.

She tried in vain to get comfortable as she rolled her shoulders to relieve the tension that seemed to radiate down to her chest.

“It’s okay,” she consoled herself. “You always worry for nothing.”

What a beautiful lie.

And she believed it. Because Jaime Seabolt always jumped to the worst conclusion. And this overcast Sunday morning was no different.

Approaching footsteps and the smell of coffee announced the return of her husband, Keith. She smiled at the Starbucks in his hands, her heart elated at the soft steam rising from the cups.

Just what she needed: hot caffeine.

“Thanks, hun,” she said, as she brought the steaming cup to her lips. Her eyes closed as she absorbed the warmth inside and out, her nostrils drowning in the scent.

Keith gave her a crooked but exhausted smile. “I figured we both need it after that early wake-up call.”

He took the seat next to her, and she nestled herself as close to him as the impractical chairs would allow. Jaime saw him take in the cotton bandage at the crook of her elbow.

“They did a blood draw right after I checked in,” she explained. “They’re going to run the beta numbers while they do an exam.”

Keith nodded as he sipped his own espresso.

“Hopefully not too much longer,” he said. The waiting room was as deserted as it had been upon their arrival.

The double doors creaked open once again to an empty hallway. Jaime’s head twisted to the sound, hopeful. But again, the doors seemed to have opened for no one. She tapped her foot impatiently.

Keith gave her a sideways glance but said nothing.

“It’s all in your head,” she told herself. “Everything’s fine.”

Keith took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. He pulled out his phone to scroll Facebook as Jaime tried focusing on the book she brought. They didn’t discuss the current circumstances, partly because it felt a little taboo, and also because he, like Jaime, knew she worried too much.

Jaime put down her book after only five minutes of reading, her attention drawn again to those self-opening doors. On a different day, she would have thought they were almost magical.

But there was no Narnia waiting for her on the other side. No enchanted world or alternate reality.

However, there was a nurse.

“Jaime!”

The nurse’s voice seemed to echo through the empty room. Jaime felt a small ray of hope as she rose and walked over to her, Keith on her heels. They were greeted with a warm smile that spread all the way to her eyes.

“We’re heading to room four,” she said, and led the way forward as the doors closed behind them. Room four was just past the charge station. They settled themselves in: Keith on the chair to the right of the bed, and Jaime on the edge of the stiff mattress. The door closed behind their nurse and she placed herself right in front of Jaime.

“My name is Hannah, and I’ll be your nurse this morning,” she said. Her friendly smile never left her face. “What brings you in today?”

Jaime answered Hannah as she wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her arm. She recounted for her all the events of yesterday morning, the midwife’s advice from the afternoon before, and the turn of events after she woke up at six o’clock. 

“The blood was red this morning when I woke up,” she continued, “though the flow is still the same. It’s not constant, and only when I wipe. But the midwife said if it changed from pink to red then to go get checked out, so that’s why we’re here.”

Hannah smiled reassuringly as she finished taking the rest of Jaime’s vitals and got her insurance information.

“We’ll get your beta numbers back soon and do a scan while we wait just to be sure,” she said confidently, her voice bringing warmth to Jaime’s chill.

She was so sure, so positive. Jaime felt ripples of hope for the first time that morning, and a touch of excitement.

A scan!

Her heart raced at the realization that she was going to hear her baby’s heartbeat a whole 6 days early. Maybe something good could come from her over-anxious mind after all.

Hannah finished typing on her workstation and left the room. Jaime placed her book on the mattress and decided to look up a place for breakfast while Keith resumed his Facebook scrolling. Both were eager to shift their focus to anything but the hospital room. Keith stood abruptly and threw his coffee cup in the trashcan by the sink. Jaime glanced down at her own cup, half empty.

She stared at the floor as she took a sip. It was cold now. She heard the door in the hallway open again but kept her gaze down. She didn’t want to think about how many people were here today.

How many people would die in this place today?

She shook her head at the morbid thought. The warmth Hannah brought ebbed away as she heard the triage door open and close once more, as rhythmic as a slow heartbeat.

Tip tap.

They jumped at the rapid knock on the door. A young woman in glasses, with light brown hair and blue scrubs, made her way in the room with what looked like another computer on four wheels. Wires draped over both sides, held up at the end with little probes.

The ultrasound machine.

Jaime laid back when the technician instructed, determined to catch a glimpse of the screen. She flinched at the arctic jelly on the tip of the wand. The tech didn’t notice as she ran the probe over Jaime’s abdomen.

Over and over.

Jaime lifted her sternum as much as she could without moving her stomach, craned her neck as much as she could to see the images on the screen. She gave up. The screen was angled too far from her. She settled back down; her eyes bored into the reflection on the tech’s glasses.

The tech’s face was stoic as the minutes dragged on. She pressed the probe harder into Jaime, as if she were trying to scan all the way to her spine.

“Is everything looking good so far?” Jaime tried to keep the worry out of her voice.

“I’m not legally allowed to go over the imaging with you,” she answered, not unkindly. “The doctor will review the scan results when we’re finished.”

Jaime lifted her chin in acknowledgement. Keith stood silently next to her, his face just as blank as the tech’s.

“Would it be alright if I did an internal scan to get a closer look?”

The question made Jaime’s heart sink. She nodded and the tech gave her a blanket with instructions to remove everything from the waist down before leaving the room.

“Something’s wrong,” she told Keith as she undressed. She was surprised she said it so matter-of-factly.

“How do you know?”

“I’m eleven and a half weeks. She would have been more than able to see something on the abdominal scan.”

“Well, we don’t know that for sure.” He sat down on the bed next to her, the blanket sprawled over her legs. It was thin and not meant for warmth. Jaime wondered with frustration how much longer she’d have to wait in uncertainty. But within five minutes, their tech came back to the room and took up her seat next to the monitor.

The internal scan went just as slow as the abdominal. Jaime wondered how often she had to do these scans for women like her. Every day? Every week, maybe? How many babies died in this hospital? She let her mind continue in its downward spiral.

“The doctor will be in to review the images with you,” the technician said as she removed the jelly-covered protective film from the wand. She gathered up her machine and left the room without a backward glance.

It felt like an eternity before the doctor came in. Keith’s stomach finalized their breakfast plans while Jaime replayed the last 3 months in her mind.

What if I’m right? 

She watched as two people were ushered down the hallway by the unfeeling door. What did it care if it led to death? Its sole purpose was to swing open and shut. Open and shut. In and out.

There was no knock as the door to room four opened abruptly. The doctor shifted in and took up the stool in the corner to Jaime’s left. She tried to read his face before he began speaking, but it was an impenetrable mask.

Not good, she thought. She barely heard him as he spit out the words “missed miscarriage” and explained the scans showed she was only about six weeks along, not eleven. She felt hazy, like she was in a dream.

A nightmare.

“I’d recommend following up with your OB as soon as you can,” he said. There was no comfort in his voice.

Keith stared in silence as the man left the couple to deal with the shock. He rushed to Jaime as soon as the door shut in the doctor’s wake. She sobbed into his shoulder as he held her close.

So she had been right all along. Her premonition that something was wrong had been true. No one rushed them to leave. Keith held her tenderly as she let out her grief. Her whole body ached now.

She wasn’t sure how long she soaked his shirt in tears and snot. Keith found a box of tissues on the sink and wiped her eyes.

They eventually emerged from room four, Jaime’s eyes puffy and red. No one glanced their way as they walked past the charge station and back out into the waiting room. The triage doors opened as they approached, guiding them in bereaved farewell.

“I need to use the bathroom really quick,” Keith breathed. He bounded off to the men’s room while Jaime took a seat in the waiting room. She checked her phone’s home screen: November 11, 2018, 9:00 A.M.

Two hours. Her whole world had shattered in just two hours. An entire life, an entire future ripped away from her unyielding grasp.

She sat in the rigid chair, powerless. Hollow. Visions of onesies and congratulations, and gleeful squeals from their toddler sleeping innocently at home peeled painfully away from her mind.

She never got to hear the heartbeat, never even learned the sex of her baby. It was just…gone. Gone as if it never even existed.

She peered up into the hallway beyond and saw a small boy standing alone in the entrance. He was dressed in a navy-blue sweater and corduroy pants, and his sun-blond hair fell gently into his face.

His hazel eyes bored into hers, unflinching. He was alone, and none of the nurses seemed to take notice of him. Before Jaime could do anything to assist him, the doors began to close slowly once more. They continued to stare at each other as the doors shut him away from the world.

And he was hidden from her forever.