TRIBUTE: SOFTEN MY SOUL

Tribute: Soften My Soul

I sat on the edge of the tub, waiting. This cannot happen to me. Not now. I had managed to make it through high school, undergrad, 2 years of work and law school without so much as a slipup. A month ago, I signed my contract of employment with the law firm, which contained the six figure salary that would be the key to my future. At 26, I already earned triple my parents salary. Now, when things were finally falling into place and the life I had dreamt of was within my grasp, I was possibly pregnant. This just cannot happen to me.

But the past two weeks had been a blur of cramps and nausea. When I wasn’t vomiting, I experienced hot flashes, cold flashes and embarrassing mood swings. Just that afternoon, I had cried at the firm’s lunch conference, frustrated that my coworker nabbed the last brownie.

So I bought the home pregnancy test and locked myself in my bathroom, praying that my good fortune hadn’t come to an end. I finally gathered my nerve and glanced at the window indicator. With two clear stripes of pink, my worst fears were confirmed.

What am I going to do? Simple. I have to hide it. Relying on my own flawed understanding, hiding it became the most logical conclusion in the world. Except for my husband, I just wouldn’t tell anyone. Never mind that I would eventually begin to show. Or that it was ludicrous for a professional married woman to hide a pregnancy. I only had one clear thought: there was no way I would let the firm know that they had just invested six figures in an attorney who would be taking maternity leave in 9 months.

I walked around with my little secret, ignoring the cause of my sudden unrelenting illness. Two weeks later, while sitting at my desk, I became overwhelmed with cramps. Worried, I rushed to the restroom. In the stall, I doubled over in pain, but clenched my teeth, determined to get through it. When the pain finally subsided, I noticed the spots. Blood. Oh no. Oh, God, no.

I ran back to my office, grabbed my purse and cell phone, mumbled something to my secretary, and left the building. In the car, I called the doctor.

“Doctor’s office. May I help you?”

“Yes. I am spotting. Pregnant. I need to see someone, now.”

“Where are you?”

“D.C.” The lights were taking forever to turn green. The people wouldn’t get out of the crosswalk. MOVE. Something is wrong with my baby.

“Go to our satellite office. It’s closer. I will phone ahead and tell them you’re coming.”

She gave me the directions. I tore through the city, my heart beating faster and my breath becoming shallow. I can’t lose my baby. It had never occurred to me that something bad could happen or that the baby wouldn’t make it. During that car ride, the “it” that had invaded my body, that I had barely spoken about and had tried to ignore with all my might, became my baby.

When I arrived at the office, the nurses escorted me to the back room for a sonogram. The head nurse arrived. It will be alright. It has to. She attempted to make small talk, but I didn’t hear a word. I prayed silently that I hadn’t neglected my poor child before she was ever given a chance.

“Mrs. Moore, you can get dressed.”

“Huh? You said the doctor would see me.”

“Yes, I did. But I don’t think he will need to perform a follow up sono, after all. He would like to talk with you in his office instead.

I nodded. He will just tell me that I need rest. I never get bad news at the doctor’s office, except for the stupid weigh in. It will be alright.

I pulled on my clothes and followed the nurse down the hall.

“Mrs. Moore, please have a seat.”

I glanced at the pleasant looking man before me and wondered how long this would take. I hope this is quick. I need to get back to work.

“Mrs. Moore, I am sorry to tell you this, but the fetus does not have a heart beat.”

A loud clap filled me ears, followed by the sound of cloth tearing. I shut my eyes and shook my head to clear my hearing. I couldn’t have heard him right. “I’m sorry,” I said with a little smile, scoffing at myself, “For some reason, I thought you said… I mean, I couldn’t really hear you. What did you say?

“Mrs. Moore, your fetus. There is no heartbeat.”

“What? No, that’s not right.”

“Yes, Mrs. Moore, we have the pictures of the sonogram right here. See the mass? There.” He tapped the circle at the bottom of the swirl of black and white. “I am afraid that is the fetus. It does not have a heartbeat. You will need to schedule an emergency D&C.”

“A what?”

His lips continued to move, as he carefully used technical words like fetus, mass and removal. My heart had stopped beating. My baby is dead. I had ignored her, had been ashamed of her. I had chosen the six figure salary over my precious baby. She wasn’t just a fetus or a mass. She was my child and I had lost her. I had cruelly neglected her very existence.

I felt my mouth open. I heard his stream of words abruptly halt. The cry from my soul must have shocked him, because he sat with his mouth open and eyes wide, while I loudly sobbed. The head nurse quickly entered the room and handed me tissue. I stood up to exit, my cries echoing through the office. As we walked past the other nurses and patients, they bent their heads together and whispered, their faces full of pity. I never felt more alone.

That evening I talked to my husband. We prayed. I called my girlfriends. We prayed. They formed a prayer circle and prayed. In the midst of prayer, someone suggested a second opinion. A few phone calls later revealed that a radiologist had an opening the following Monday. God please grant my baby a second chance. Please, God, grant me a second chance.

This time, my husband went with me. After a long wait, the moment finally arrived. If my child had passed away, at least I would get one last chance to see her, one last chance to apologize. The radiologist glanced through my chart and then began her search for the baby. Finally, we spotted her, a tiny tadpole shaped being.

“Do you see the red spot that keeps blinking?” asked the radiologist, a huge smile covering her face.

I nodded.

“That’s the baby’s heartbeat. She is fine.”

My husband bowed his head in relief. My child had been spared from a horrible mistake or granted a second chance at life. I will never know which. But I learned that my baby was a rare and precious gift, one that I would never again take for granted.

Bio:

Aisha K. Moore, Esq., pseudonym a.Kai, is a published poet and novelist who enjoys writing inspirational, fantasy, sci fi (speculative fiction), commercial and adult fiction. Her Discover Kai Poetry Collection is an intimate monthly log of experiences, emotions and reflection that consists of six published collections, including Cherished Beginnings, Intimate Musings, Internal Indulgences and Peaceful Resolution. She is a contributing poet to Step Up to the Mic: A Poetic Explosion (Poetic Press). Her poetry has been recognized in a number of magazines, book clubs and literary circles and is posted on a number of websites and blogs.

Her inspirational short story, Second Chance, has been published in True: Vol. 2 and her short story, The Marks, was published by The Writer’s Cafe’ Press in the anthology Light at the Edge of Darkness. A third short story, Mikki’s Anniversary, is included in the anthology If It Ain’t One Thing, It’s Another. She is a guest reviewer for RAWSISTAZ Book Club.

A wife and mother of five, Aisha graduated from Georgetown University Law Center and is licensed to practice in both Washington D.C. and Maryland. She is employed by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) where she works in employment discrimination matters. For more information, visit her at www.discoverkai.com, www.discoverkai.blogspot.com or www.myspace.com/discoverkai.