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  • Writer's pictureCKapke

Chapter 2: The Treatment

Driving to the hospital, Daniel began crying. I held his hand and asked him what was wrong. He said, “it’s just a sad situation. I’m just sad.” I held his hand and comforted him. I told him everything would be ok. I told him I would be ok because they caught it in time, and we will have our baby when we’re supposed to. I’ve always had a tendency to try to see the positive in everything. I thought that’s what I was doing then. But looking back now, I know that I wasn’t allowing myself to feel.

We walked into the hospital, had our temperatures taken at the door, and were given masks. We had been told to go straight to the second floor, and that they were expecting us. We stood out of the way for a lady who was being wheeled out of the hospital, holding her baby. I smiled at the lady, but I couldn’t stop the tears from escaping my eyes. Daniel squeezed my hand, and we continued up to the second floor, which turned out to be a maternity ward.

They welcomed us, and showed us to our room. We walked down the hallway hearing crying babies, and passing another mother in a wheelchair, smiling and holding her baby. I told myself to be strong, we just had to get through this and then everything would be ok.

In the maternity suite, the nurse came in with a gown and a drink of water for me. “How are you doing mamma?” Her words stung. I’m not going to be a mamma. But I smiled and told her I was doing well. “Can I get dad a drink?” There it was, another sting. Daniel squeezed my hand, but he smiled and told her he was ok. We would go on to spend twelve hours at the hospital, with the nurses referring to us as ‘mamma’ and ‘dad’ the entire time. I understand it is a habit for them, being in the maternity ward, but that didn’t stop it hurting every single time.

They ran some tests, and hooked me up to a monitor, so they could monitor me for a potential rupture. We then waited five hours for them to administer the methotrexate injections. The doctor wasn’t there, and they needed to be the one to do it. The more time went by, the more anxious Daniel got. He was scared for me. A rupture is dangerous, and it can be fatal. I myself was anxious for the injection, but I remained calm, and surprisingly bubbly, I wanted to be strong for Daniel, and ease his worry. We watched tv, we laughed, we talked. Everything was going to be fine. But looking back, I know I hadn’t let myself think about what was happening. I hadn’t let myself feel it.

The doctor came in to administer the injections. They handed me a waiver (giving permission to abort the pregnancy) and I signed it without even reading it. I was to receive two injections, into my thighs because that was the largest muscle. They hurt, a lot. But the pain was over once the injection was done being administered. They handed me paperwork; with all of the things I can’t do after getting the methotrexate. I remember laughing and joking with the nurse and the doctor while getting the injections. I remember just feeling so relieved that I was finally getting them, and I would be allowed to go home in five hours. (They have to monitor you for at least five hours after receiving methotrexate injections.) I was just glad to finally be done. But our journey was just beginning.

The moment the nurse and doctor left the room, the reality of what had just happened hit me. I was overcome with a wave of emotions, and I instantly began sobbing. Daniel was by my side, holding my hand, asking what had happened. I told him I just realized I was killing my baby. He began crying too, he said, “I know, that’s why I was crying in the car. I realized it then.” We both sat there, in each other’s arms, crying together. How had I not realized it before now? My baby is alive. She’s in the wrong place, but she’s alive. And I’m killing her. Will she feel it? Will it be quick, or slow? This doesn’t feel right.

Daniel made up the couch bed for himself, and we watched a movie on the TV, and quickly fell asleep. I awoke at 5am, with the nurse telling me they were discharging us. I still don’t understand why they couldn’t just let us sleep. But that’s how it is I suppose. We drove home in silence, holding hands the entire way. At least it was over… oh how wrong we were. We didn’t realize that my physical and our emotional journeys were just beginning.

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