The start of the dark

Cars, trucks, busses, trains, people swarmed around us until we made our way to the highway and started moving in unison. News radio buzzed from the speakers. The clock’s green numbers inched closer to “the” time. Highway exits flew past. Tears streamed from swollen red eyes as my hand never left my belly. Life is so fucking unfair sometimes.
 

We made our way into the hospital, past all the people darting about, and into the room we were told to go to. I added my name to the list, filled out paperwork, and sat down across from an older couple, avoiding eye contact with everyone. If I don’t see you, maybe this is all a bad dream.

 

Whispers, the scent of coffee, soft music filled the air. My head hurt, my eyes were so incredibly heavy and hard to open. His large, warm, rough hand squeezed mine tightly when my name was called. I feel so helpless.

“He needs to wait here until we get you all situated,” the nurse said.

I looked at the woman, then over to my husband who was ready to sit back down, and started crying uncontrollably to the point that I needed to sit down. She touched my shoulder and apologized, telling me it was going to be OK and that my husband could come after all. He knelt down in front of me and took my hands to help me up. This was really happening.

She asked a bunch of questions, told me to do a bunch of stuff, I took off my clothes and put on the hospital gown and laid my flabby body on the bed in the bright and white and sterile room. My husband looked down at me and smiled and rubbed my hand. Would we ever have a child?

Lying flat on my back they wheeled me into another room where the temperature dramatically dropped. Several people all dressed in white helped me scoot off the bed and onto another when I was told to scoot down so that my butt was in a hole. Is this really fucking happening?!?

My arms got stretched out so that I lay like Jesus on the cross. Everything was so white, so cold. Everyone scurried about opening packages, placing metal things on metal trays. My doctor’s friendly face finally made an appearance and he told me what was going to happen and then I woke up back in the warmer room with my husband by my side, holding my hand. What the hell is going on?

 
The doctor reappeared and told us both how things went, what we could expect, what we should look out for, what drugs he would prescribe for the pain I might endure. He was, of course, talking about the pain from surgically removing my dead baby from me, from the scraping of my uterus. What about my heart? What about the pain that my head and heart and soul would endure for the next several years?

For this week’s memoir prompt, we’re going to let narrative take a backseat. Choose a moment from your personal history and mine it for sensory detail. Describe it to us in rich, evocative details. Let us breath the air, hear the heartbeat, the songs, feel the fabric and the touch of that moment.

This was harder than I thought it would be... but it's good to be back to writing again.