When I pull up to the costume shop, blood begins to pour out from between my legs. For nearly a week I have been lying in bed crying and there was never more than very minimal spotting. This is a massive amount of blood. What if I didn’t go to the doctor that day and I wasn’t expecting this to happen? I feel relief, grateful to be prepared. I tell Kalia calmly,
“Honey, we can’t go get your costume. I’m sick and I need Daddy’s help. We have to go home right now, I’m sorry.” Her response is truly miraculous.
I drive home and call Josh from the car. He comes out and gets Kalia. I make it into the bathroom, where I remain for a couple of hours. I didn’t know it would take so long.
And I didn’t know there would be so much blood.
It’s especially messy because I have this aversion to flushing the fetus down the toilet. So I hold my hands in the stream of blood that continues to pour out of me. Whenever a large clot comes out I examine it. I don’t know if it’s my imagination or not when I believe I’m holding the baby in my hands. I put it into a box I prepared in advance. I wonder if I’m crazy. Is this what crazy people do? But I can’t imagine just flushing it.
Eventually, the bleeding slows enough for me to put a pad on and some new clothes. I wash my pants and underwear under the water in the bathtub, which runs red for several minutes. I clean the blood from the bathroom floor and counter and sink. I have to rinse the washcloth several times. Josh comes to the door and asks me if I’m OK. I mean it when I say yes, although the cramping is intense and also unexpected. When I come out I go right to bed.
I wake up for Kalia’s bedtime. I crawl into her bed with her and Josh. She begins to talk about her brother. She has big plans for him. She’s going to teach him how to carve pumpkins. She still doesn’t know.
“Kalia. I have to tell you something, honey.” I pull her into my arms. Josh takes one of my hands.
“Your brother isn’t going to be born.” She looks at me, confused.
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