me a raging bitch around that time of the month—bonus points if it helps my occasional breakouts, too.”
After writing down a prescription, the doctor said I was cleared for sex but that if I needed to wait, I surely could. The phrasing of that question threw me off—if I needed to wait for sex, I could anyway—I didn’t need Dr. Parker’s permission for that. But maybe other women felt pressure to fuck their significant others after a loss, regardless if they actually wanted to or not, but I only fucked when I wanted to. Which, granted, was all the time with Nathan.
After Dr. Parker left the room, sympathetic nurse remained. It was then that I noticed the pamphlet in her hands.
“How are you doing, Adele?” she asked like we were best friends about to catch up.
“I’m fine,” I said, looking at the door to my left like it was my mother fucking salvation.
“It’s okay if you aren’t, you know?” she asked softly. “You’ve suffered a loss, and it’s okay for you to grieve—openly, if you need to.”
Maybe other women felt safety confiding to others, but I sure as fuck didn’t. She was picking at me, waiting for that fissure to split wide open. “I’m fine,” I said, through clenched teeth.
She handed me the pamphlet. UNDERSTANDING MISCARRIAGE, it said in large, bold letters. What was there to understand? You were pregnant until you weren’t.
I had an instant urge to twist the pamphlet in my fist, but instead I looked into the nurse’s gray eyes. “I don’t need this. I’m fine.” Honestly, how many times did I need to lie until the nurse believed me?
“Is your partner supportive?”
“I’m pretty sure he isn’t supportive of me losing our baby, so no.” My tone was sarcastic and biting, but it did nothing to push the lady back.
“Well, a loss affects both parents, of course. But it sounds like you think you were responsible. It wasn’t your fault.”
“How do you even know that?” I asked angrily. “ I was responsible for the baby. Why shouldn’t I be responsible for … what happened?”
“Adele, I know this is hard to process.”
“Again, how do you know?” I knew I shouldn’t sound as angry as I did, but fuck. I wanted to get the hell out of there, far away from her sympathy eyes.
“I’ve had four miscarriages.”
I knew in the rational part of my brain that she wasn’t saying it to make me feel worse, but I couldn’t help it—I suddenly wanted to shrivel up. Her losses were multiplied from mine. “Four? How did you even try again after the first time?”
“I wanted a baby badly enough that I pushed on. But trust me, I was consumed with guilt—each and every time. I have three healthy children now, but that’s seven pregnancies in total.”
It shocked me. That she would try after the first time, knowing what she knew.
“Trust me—let go of the guilt. It’s the only time I’d tell a woman who has been through what we have that she shouldn’t feel a certain way. More than half of miscarriages are caused from mismatched chromosomes—which is completely out of your control.”
I didn’t know what to say. Despite her telling me to let go of the guilt—it wasn’t that simple. I’d been wallowing in guilt for two weeks—there was no way I could turn it off that easily.
“I know you must be hurting, and I’m here to listen.”
At my shifty eyes, she smiled and reached over, flipping the pamphlet over.
“But if you’re not ready now, there are a number of support groups in the greater Boston area, as well as forums all over the internet. You’re not alone—not by a long shot.”
She touched my arm and squeezed. “When you’re ready, talk with someone who will support you. You don’t need to suffer in silence.”
As I walked out of the appointment, I didn’t feel lighter—but I felt less alone.
Chapter Sixteen
N ovember in Boston was fucking weird. One day we could have cold that punched to your bone. The next day? A fucking sunburn
After writing down a prescription, the doctor said I was cleared for sex but that if I needed to wait, I surely could. The phrasing of that question threw me off—if I needed to wait for sex, I could anyway—I didn’t need Dr. Parker’s permission for that. But maybe other women felt pressure to fuck their significant others after a loss, regardless if they actually wanted to or not, but I only fucked when I wanted to. Which, granted, was all the time with Nathan.
After Dr. Parker left the room, sympathetic nurse remained. It was then that I noticed the pamphlet in her hands.
“How are you doing, Adele?” she asked like we were best friends about to catch up.
“I’m fine,” I said, looking at the door to my left like it was my mother fucking salvation.
“It’s okay if you aren’t, you know?” she asked softly. “You’ve suffered a loss, and it’s okay for you to grieve—openly, if you need to.”
Maybe other women felt safety confiding to others, but I sure as fuck didn’t. She was picking at me, waiting for that fissure to split wide open. “I’m fine,” I said, through clenched teeth.
She handed me the pamphlet. UNDERSTANDING MISCARRIAGE, it said in large, bold letters. What was there to understand? You were pregnant until you weren’t.
I had an instant urge to twist the pamphlet in my fist, but instead I looked into the nurse’s gray eyes. “I don’t need this. I’m fine.” Honestly, how many times did I need to lie until the nurse believed me?
“Is your partner supportive?”
“I’m pretty sure he isn’t supportive of me losing our baby, so no.” My tone was sarcastic and biting, but it did nothing to push the lady back.
“Well, a loss affects both parents, of course. But it sounds like you think you were responsible. It wasn’t your fault.”
“How do you even know that?” I asked angrily. “ I was responsible for the baby. Why shouldn’t I be responsible for … what happened?”
“Adele, I know this is hard to process.”
“Again, how do you know?” I knew I shouldn’t sound as angry as I did, but fuck. I wanted to get the hell out of there, far away from her sympathy eyes.
“I’ve had four miscarriages.”
I knew in the rational part of my brain that she wasn’t saying it to make me feel worse, but I couldn’t help it—I suddenly wanted to shrivel up. Her losses were multiplied from mine. “Four? How did you even try again after the first time?”
“I wanted a baby badly enough that I pushed on. But trust me, I was consumed with guilt—each and every time. I have three healthy children now, but that’s seven pregnancies in total.”
It shocked me. That she would try after the first time, knowing what she knew.
“Trust me—let go of the guilt. It’s the only time I’d tell a woman who has been through what we have that she shouldn’t feel a certain way. More than half of miscarriages are caused from mismatched chromosomes—which is completely out of your control.”
I didn’t know what to say. Despite her telling me to let go of the guilt—it wasn’t that simple. I’d been wallowing in guilt for two weeks—there was no way I could turn it off that easily.
“I know you must be hurting, and I’m here to listen.”
At my shifty eyes, she smiled and reached over, flipping the pamphlet over.
“But if you’re not ready now, there are a number of support groups in the greater Boston area, as well as forums all over the internet. You’re not alone—not by a long shot.”
She touched my arm and squeezed. “When you’re ready, talk with someone who will support you. You don’t need to suffer in silence.”
As I walked out of the appointment, I didn’t feel lighter—but I felt less alone.
Chapter Sixteen
N ovember in Boston was fucking weird. One day we could have cold that punched to your bone. The next day? A fucking sunburn
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