Frida's Miscarriage

My fingers were shaking, I didn’t know why. I could feel the tears clouding in my eyes but I didn’t feel sad enough to burst out crying. I could smell my husband’s scent outside the door but I was hoping he wouldn’t come in anytime soon, I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t ready to let go of the life that was growing inside of me, I wasn’t ready to just accept this, as everybody says. They have no idea what I’m going through they have no room to talk but that didn’t matter at that moment. Nothing did. I was staring straight at my now dead baby that was placed in a jar to be preserved. He was curled up like an egg and eyes shut. His tiny, fragile body was just being drowned in the yellow water of the jar. I wasn’t there for him when he needed me to be. When they pulled him out of me I was sedated, I didn’t do a thing to save him. Disappointment: “When one is angry at the fact that they have failed at something that they wanted to succeed in.” I was broken, not in the right state of mind either. When I ate, I tasted nothing. Not one thing. Whenever someone talked to me it like a thick piece of glass was blocking my ear. I couldn’t focus either, my eyes were just straight not looking to the left or the right.

My mind led me somewhere else as the images of my baby slept in my mind. They were depressing. I did not understand why I had the flashbacks when I remember exactly what happened. I was laying in bed, letting my exhaustion take me, but then I felt this sudden urge of pain in my stomach like a lightning strike. I couldn’t move, not only did the circuit between my mind and body had broken but my heart did as well because I knew then and there that I had lost my baby. It wasn’t surprising for my husband and I, the doctors said that this would be a risk. It was late and I was desperately waiting for my husband to arrive home. I was wondering where he was but I couldn’t focus, the pain was slowly taking me away. I felt like I was being sliced in half. I couldn’t do anything about it and that infuriated me. When he came home, he arrived in the dark, I was in agonising pain and I cried, as soon as he heard me he ran to the light switch and turned it on and looked at me in horror, I blinked slowly and swallowed the stuck lump of saliva inside my throat.

My husband cupped my face with his hands and showed me his sorrow, he picked me up, out of the bed with tears dripping down his face. I could tell that this was surreal for him. We got to the car and I was moaning in pain. I was struggling to breathe. My eyes were heavy, I knew I couldn't keep them open long now. I ran to the hospital doors, my eyes were blurry, I couldn't see much. Dizziness hit me. It felt like I was drowning in a sea of darkness. As I saw a nurse approaching me, I fell and everything went black. I woke up with demanding voices yelling around me and a splitting headache. My husband was calling my name but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. I saw double as soon as I opened my eyes. I took a look at my stomach and my baby bump was still there. At least that brought me some happiness but that small fragile part of happiness didn’t cover the sadness inside of me. I wanted to see my baby I knew they took him from me. I fought as much as I could but I was weak, but that didn’t mean that I gave up. I was kicking and screaming but it didn’t do a single thing. It was like I was there but I didn’t make anyone react or even help me. Tears fell down my face. My eyes shut tight. The tantrum that I caused for nothing led me to just gasping for air. Everything was in slow motion, that was irritating I wanted this to be over and done with.

The morning after, as soon as my eyes popped open, I realised that I was still in the hospital. I felt the dried tears still on my face. I walked out the door with a confused expression. I walked out the room to go find my baby but instead I found a doctor and my husband talking. I asked my husband where my son was, I asked the doctor to bring him to me but he wouldn’t. I got agitated and I demanded to see him. I screamed and screamed and this time they listened to me. Everyone was wondering why I had wanted to see my baby even after my miscarriage. I wanted to see him because he was still my baby. I wanted to hold him and kiss his beautiful face. Even after everything I still thought maybe, just maybe, there’ll be a little hope.

They brought him to me in a jar filled with yellow water up to the top. I didn’t feel the need to cry, I had cried enough. All I thought was that I was not ready, I wasn’t ready to face the fact that my baby did not have the chance to grow up, to go to school or to fall in love like I did. Anger filled up inside of me as if a lion has lost his prey. I was furious but I did not have the energy to unleash it. My eyes would not let me look away, despite the fact I was looking at my dead child.

My husband had brought me my paint and canvas. I started to paint. Painting has always made me feel better and it was enough to distract me from the unbelievable thoughts about my lifeless child. I thought about what I was going to paint so I painted what I felt. One part of my painting was my baby up in the sky and a dead flower down on the ground. That represented the good and evil in this world. It shows that there always will be a balance between them both. “Frida?” my husband asked whilst walking in the room. “Yes Diego?”.