I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the cream-painted wall in front of me. My eyes glazed over, fingers gripping the bed-sheet tightly in each hand, feet hanging just off the floor. Outside, a thousand machines in a thousand different rooms whirred and clicked, each sound connected to a heartbeat or brain spasm.
Inside my room, silence. Nothing whirred and nothing clicked. The machines in the corner of the room, the ultrasound and the pulse monitor were switched off. Only a day earlier they had been connected to me, monitoring my baby.
The nurse had me lie on the bed, lifted up my gown and poured the gel over my stomach, causing me to tense up and the hair on my arms to stand on end. It was like having a large pile of ice dumped straight onto me. The nurse, a small woman with blonde hair, tied back in a very tight ponytail, smiled at me as she emptied the tube completely. The name on her badge read ‘Sandy’.
“Sorry it’s chilly” she said “but don’t worry once I start moving the sensor about you’ll soon warm up.”
Her voice was soft and comforting, she seemed to warm me up again just hearing her speak. She lifted the sensor out of its cradle and began to glide it across my stomach, then focussed her attention on the small black and white image on the ultrasound monitor.
I was so nervous I held my breath the minute something came into view on the screen. Your first baby is a very scary event, you aren’t prepared for any of the changes that your body undergoes and although everyone is very friendly, you feel isolated and singular. I closed my eyes and wished for a girl, keeping my eyes shut until Sandy told me what she could see on the screen.
My eyes were closed for what felt like a lifetime and still Sandy said nothing. She kept gliding the sensor over every square inch of my stomach, each time she got a little quicker and pressed a little harder. I heard a click and opened my eyes. Sandy had switched off the ultrasound monitor and replaced the sensor back in the cradle. She stood back and looked at me, her eyes wide and her face pale.
“I’m just going to fetch the Doctor, for a second opinion.” she said, a quiver in her voice. “You just relax honey and I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Is everything alright?” I asked, my heart starting to be faster, a sense of dread filling my chest.
Sandy didn’t answer, she looked ahead at the door and walked quickly out the room, the sound of the hospital drifted in, then drifted out as the door closed firmly behind her.
A couple of minutes later Sandy came back into the room followed by a man, with peppery hair and wearing black-framed glasses. They both walked straight by me without a look over to the ultrasound machine. They stood side by side, blocking my view of the monitor and a little click told me they had switched it back on. With the doctor still obscuring the monitor, Sandy resumed scanning my stomach with the sensor, which was still warm from last time. The doctor sighed loudly and rested his chin on his hand, the other one on his waist.
“Ok Sandy, enough.” He said, his voice deep and gravely, more like a country and western singer than a doctor.
Sandy stopped, bit her lip and once more replaced the sensor in the cradle. She gathered a wad of paper towels and began wiping the gunk off my stomach until it was clean again, then pulled my gown back down over my stomach.
My body felt like my heart had fallen out of my chest and torn out every organ on the way down. A black hole had formed in my stomach and was sucking in all the light and heat, making the room look blue and cold.
I feel like I’ve died.
The doctor turns to look at me, confusion written all over his face. He crosses his arms and looks into my eyes.
“Mrs…?” He enquires, not having looked at my file before he came into the room.
“Miss Turner.” I reply, managing to swallow the lump in my throat.
“Just how far along in your pregnancy are you Miss Turner?” There’s a hint of sarcasm or maybe disbelief in his voice. It feels like I’m back at school in front of the matron.
Casting my mind back, I reply “three months, this is my first scan.”
“Have you felt ill lately? Had any strange symptoms, felt under the weather at all?”
“No I feel fine.”
“Any vaginal bleeding or tenderness?”
“No, nothing. Look, what’s wrong with my baby?” My voice is raised, I just want to know what’s going on. The questions, the probing, are dragging out the now inevitable bad news.
Bleeding. Illness. Symptoms?
Some little corner of my mind already knows what’s happened. His voice can only confirm it but instead he stays silent. He takes a deep breath, followed by a long sigh, then steps to one side.
The monitor. At first I think it’s still switched off, until I see the little green power light.
It’s empty. The screen is completely blank.
Where there should be static, a fuzzy black and white image of a little baby in the foetal position, like some sort of biological radar, there is absolutely nothing.
Suddenly I feel hollow. My stomach churns, like a hand crushing my waist, it forces the acid burning inside me up my throat and I vomit all of the side of the bed.
Sandy rushes over, grabs a towel so I can wipe my mouth clean. She rubs my back and brushes the hair from my face. I can smell the pity on her as I try and take in what I see on the screen.
Nothing.
