Original Sin by Gerry Hayes
The fine gauze weave sucks at the red tendrils, drawing them deeper into itself.
It was just spotting, nothing serious. We make a phone call and receive reassurances and statistics. One in five women bleed. It’s rare for problems at thirteen weeks.
One in five.
Thirteen weeks.
And then thirteen people breaking bread. Extended family gather for dinner. Family celebration. Unconvincing smiles on two faces.
We know something’s wrong as we drive home. I push the car and the engine whines urgently. Makes no difference. She holds my hand.
Voice breaking, she calls me to the bathroom.
This is my body which is for you.
They don’t tell you. They don’t tell you that.
It’s real now.
Tangible.
We grope at each other for comfort that’s not there. All the time she cradles, protects, the thing wrapped in tissue paper.
Drops in water. Red tendrils again, moving differently against this medium. Brownian motion. They spread, tainting, spoiling.
This is my blood. It will be shed for you and for all, so that sins may be forgiven.
In the car again. Headlights burst and flare through the tears in my lashes. Engine note less hurried. The tissue bundle in her lap.
Bring anything that may have been passed.
They don’t tell you.
The midwife takes it gently, reverently, and I have an compulsion to snatch it back, to keep it.
I don’t.
Offering.
She smiles sympathetically at us. A fair effort when you consider how many times she must have to do it.
Oblation.
She leaves us alone in the examination room.
Over.
Static only. Black and white. Writhing, twisting, refusing to conform to anything. The ultrasound image bulges and throbs. It warps on itself and it finds nothing. Nothing of matter. I am monochrome in the dark that comes from the screen.
Overnight observation. I drive home alone.
So that sins may be forgiven.
In the shower I weep violently until the water turns cold on my back.
–
Gerry Hayes mostly sits around all day and drinks tea. Occasionally, he writes stuff and sends it to strangers so they can humiliate him and debase his efforts. Apart from the self-harm to dull the shame of failure, it’s not a bad life. Like I say, there’s tea. Gerry’s blog is stareintospace.com and you can have easily-digestible, bite-sized pieces of him at twitter.com/gerryhayes
© 2010, Metazen. All rights reserved.
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Yeah, this site has really been an eye opener. I used google translator
Four months into our first pregnancy my wife miscarried – our first child. And until now, the words have not been available to describe the experience. Thank you for crossing emotional barriers to bring us this beautifully written and heartbreakingly unforgettable story.
The biology of a miscarriage can be understood from the biological aspect that the body has recognized the developing embryo as being inferior, and therefore not viable to carry to term.
This would be from the biological standpoint of a health mother’s body.
And then I remember consulting with a woman who was a marathon runner when I was in the health food sector, who had not only miscarried but her body had began to cannibalize the dead embryo as a readily source of protein….
There exists a very fierce beauty to Nature. You piece was able to bring this to my awareness Gerry. Thanks.
Wow. Humbled. Thank you, everyone.
Very few words and very moving. Thanks for making me think.