"I am Just a Woman"
My day at the clinic has been no different than usual. Patients are coming in left and right. Pregnant women talking to me about how excited they are about bringing their new babies home.
I have one patient left to see before I am allowed to clock out and finally go home to catch up on my reading. I see on her chart that she is 24 weeks pregnant and she thinks her water has broken. This can’t be right.
“Hi, what brings you in tonight? It says here you think your water may have broken,” I say to the blonde woman laying on the table in front of me who looks like she is in desperate need of a hot shower and a toothbrush.
“Well, something ain’t right. My baby hasn’t been movin'.”
This woman looks like she has spent all night at a dirty club. I can imagine her dancing on tables. Hooking up with whatever man would have her for the night. She definitely doesn’t know who the father is.
I don’t even try to hide the judgment in my voice when I say, “What were you doing when you realized your baby stopped moving?”
“I ain’t done nothing different. Maybe I just had a drink or two last night but my sister always told me that a few drinks during pregnancy ain’t going to do much harm to the kid.”
“Did anything else happen before you realized your baby had stopped moving inside of you?” I ask while trying not to narrate what most likely had happened to her last night.
“I mean I don’t think much more happened. I fell asleep on a couch at a friend’s house and then realized this morning the baby hadn’t kicked in a while,” the young woman says as she nervously plays with the dirty string bracelets she has wrapped around her skinny wrists.
I want to scream! Who has a “drink or two” while carrying their child? This is just how I want to end my day. I’m going to have to tell this woman her baby is likely dead because she was mindless enough to get wasted to the point that she forgot about what even happened to her.
“Put your feet up and spread your legs for me. I am going to have to examine your cervix before we can draw any conclusions about why your baby hasn’t moved,” I explain to the woman, even though I am certain her baby is already dead from her intoxicated mistakes.
As I begin the examination, a rush of fowl-smelling vaginal liquid pours down her leg and onto the chair and my new Nike sneakers. This is extra fluid from the amniotic sac when it must have ruptured earlier in the day. I feel inside of her. The dead fetus didn’t stand a chance with a mother like her.
I would never treat my pregnant body this way. I am better than that -than her!
“I’m sorry, I know this is hard, but your baby is gone. A nurse will be in shortly to let you know what happens from here.”
“Oh no. You don’t think it could be from doin' some coke do ya? I swear it wasn’t much! I swear!”
“Cocaine is a deadly and highly addictive drug,” I say through gritted teeth, “so yes, I’m afraid your baby’s likely cause of death was a mixture of the cocaine and alcohol you decided to consume. I’m sorry for your loss. As I said, a nurse will be in shortly to inform you of your aftercare.”
I leave the room quickly. I can’t be in there around a woman who doesn’t care about her baby. A woman who did cocaine, drank alcohol, and God knows what else at some party while pregnant with another life. I need to be home and away from this place.
I grab my purse and say goodnight to the nurses and receptionists at the front of the clinic. I am so ready to wash this day off of me.
I make my way to the parking garage where I see a man in a no-color sweatshirt with darting blue eyes. He quietly says, “Hi”.
Being the polite professional I usually am I reply with a quick, “Hello”, before picking up my pace to my car. Something seemed off about him. Why is he just standing alone in a parking garage?
As I walk faster I hear the man’s footsteps growing louder and quicker in my direction. Instantly, I am taken back to the clinic. Images of the young blonde woman flash through my head. I am better than her, I thought to myself as the bloody fluid spilled onto my shoes and scrubs.
I almost make it to my car when I feel him against me. Taking away the dignity I thought I had. Shaming me in the middle of a parking garage. Not a soul around to rid me of this heinous man. I am not better. I am helpless. I am just a woman, like any woman before me. Just skin and hair with a sharp primal cry.
I have one patient left to see before I am allowed to clock out and finally go home to catch up on my reading. I see on her chart that she is 24 weeks pregnant and she thinks her water has broken. This can’t be right.
“Hi, what brings you in tonight? It says here you think your water may have broken,” I say to the blonde woman laying on the table in front of me who looks like she is in desperate need of a hot shower and a toothbrush.
“Well, something ain’t right. My baby hasn’t been movin'.”
This woman looks like she has spent all night at a dirty club. I can imagine her dancing on tables. Hooking up with whatever man would have her for the night. She definitely doesn’t know who the father is.
I don’t even try to hide the judgment in my voice when I say, “What were you doing when you realized your baby stopped moving?”
“I ain’t done nothing different. Maybe I just had a drink or two last night but my sister always told me that a few drinks during pregnancy ain’t going to do much harm to the kid.”
“Did anything else happen before you realized your baby had stopped moving inside of you?” I ask while trying not to narrate what most likely had happened to her last night.
“I mean I don’t think much more happened. I fell asleep on a couch at a friend’s house and then realized this morning the baby hadn’t kicked in a while,” the young woman says as she nervously plays with the dirty string bracelets she has wrapped around her skinny wrists.
I want to scream! Who has a “drink or two” while carrying their child? This is just how I want to end my day. I’m going to have to tell this woman her baby is likely dead because she was mindless enough to get wasted to the point that she forgot about what even happened to her.
“Put your feet up and spread your legs for me. I am going to have to examine your cervix before we can draw any conclusions about why your baby hasn’t moved,” I explain to the woman, even though I am certain her baby is already dead from her intoxicated mistakes.
As I begin the examination, a rush of fowl-smelling vaginal liquid pours down her leg and onto the chair and my new Nike sneakers. This is extra fluid from the amniotic sac when it must have ruptured earlier in the day. I feel inside of her. The dead fetus didn’t stand a chance with a mother like her.
I would never treat my pregnant body this way. I am better than that -than her!
“I’m sorry, I know this is hard, but your baby is gone. A nurse will be in shortly to let you know what happens from here.”
“Oh no. You don’t think it could be from doin' some coke do ya? I swear it wasn’t much! I swear!”
“Cocaine is a deadly and highly addictive drug,” I say through gritted teeth, “so yes, I’m afraid your baby’s likely cause of death was a mixture of the cocaine and alcohol you decided to consume. I’m sorry for your loss. As I said, a nurse will be in shortly to inform you of your aftercare.”
I leave the room quickly. I can’t be in there around a woman who doesn’t care about her baby. A woman who did cocaine, drank alcohol, and God knows what else at some party while pregnant with another life. I need to be home and away from this place.
I grab my purse and say goodnight to the nurses and receptionists at the front of the clinic. I am so ready to wash this day off of me.
I make my way to the parking garage where I see a man in a no-color sweatshirt with darting blue eyes. He quietly says, “Hi”.
Being the polite professional I usually am I reply with a quick, “Hello”, before picking up my pace to my car. Something seemed off about him. Why is he just standing alone in a parking garage?
As I walk faster I hear the man’s footsteps growing louder and quicker in my direction. Instantly, I am taken back to the clinic. Images of the young blonde woman flash through my head. I am better than her, I thought to myself as the bloody fluid spilled onto my shoes and scrubs.
I almost make it to my car when I feel him against me. Taking away the dignity I thought I had. Shaming me in the middle of a parking garage. Not a soul around to rid me of this heinous man. I am not better. I am helpless. I am just a woman, like any woman before me. Just skin and hair with a sharp primal cry.