Ex-rayed

“I think I’m getting a period.” My husband makes tea. I gather heating pad, books and the remote. The bonus of pregnancy and breastfeeding is no periods. It’s been over two years and I don't remember it hurting this bad.

I can't breathe. I think I might die. The pain dies instead. Ten seconds later it is back. It feels like my first miscarriage but harder. Or maybe I forgot. It reminds me of something else. Before the miscarriage, before we knew about the misshaped womb unable to hold a baby long enough, the doctor thought it might be a tubal pregnancy. He pressed on my stomach. “If it hurts here get to a hospital. You could die”.

A week later I felt throbbing pain where his fingers touched. The doctor checked. “You and your baby are fine.”

"Then what is causing the pain?" He pointed to my head. The pain left within the hour.

My mind plays with me. It teases me now. I see me dying and greeting people at my funeral. I wake my husband. “Get me to the hospital.”

He drives too fast with the baby in the car. I close my eyes and clutch the seat. No screaming. It will scare my boy.

I walk into Emergency while my husband parks. They put me on a gurney. Faces ask questions. I tell them what I know. It’s my stomach. It hurts. Like labor. They ask the date of my last period and I laugh. They think I’m delirious.

My husband finds me. Our son sleeps on his shoulder. An intern comes in, looks at the chart and says he’ll be back.

He does not come back. Orderlies take me to X-Ray.

“Is there any chance you are pregnant?”

“Maybe”.

The X-Ray lady frowns. “I have to check something.”

It’s cold in here. I have shivers under the cramps.

X-Ray lady is back. “This won’t take long.” She straightens my legs and disappears. “Hold Still”. The machine groans are louder than mine. She turns me and shoots again. And again. And again. And one last time.

I pee in a cup. A thin pale woman takes my blood. I want to joke and ask if this is her bedtime snack, but don't.

Someone takes me back to my husband. He sits with eyes closed holding our son. He isn't asleep. He is praying. "Is there any Remover of Difficulties, save God?"* The nurse and Intern interrupt. “We need to do a pelvic.” I make my husband stay. The intern does it and the pain stops. I want to go home but they tell us to wait.

My husband and son sleep in the chair. I am too cold and happy to sleep. I am okay. Whatever it was stopped.

My doctor walks in and looks irritated. Why is he here in the middle of the night?

“I’m sorry they woke you up. I’m fine now.”

He nods.

“You are pregnant.”

I look at my husband. He is awake listening. Questions are coming too fast to say them. My doctor answers the first one.

"Your uterus was tipping and that can cause cramps. Most likely the pelvic exam repositioned it."

“But they X-Rayed me.”

“I know.”

“What does that do to the baby?”

“I’ll let the intern who ordered it explain.”

My husband lays our son on the chair and covers him with his jacket. He takes my hand in both of his.

My doctor returns with the intern and stands with crossed arms behind him. For one second I felt sorry for him. “There’s a chance the baby may be affected by the X-Ray.” There could be retardation, cancer, miscarriage, still birth. “If you want an abortion, I’ll make the arrangements.”

I want to yell. Make him understand what he did. I won't end the pregnancy on chance. But I will wake every morning and pretend there is no baby, so if this baby dies I won’t care. And when my body reminds me there is someone else in it, l will imagine a little girl because we already have her name. And then remember my first girl and why I don’t count on miracles.

I stare at him and pour my thoughts into that glare until he cannot take it. He mumbles “Sorry...” and leaves.

I have instructions to rest. My husband cooks and does the laundry. I heat left overs and fold clothes. My son plays on the floor next to the couch. We watch Big Bird, Grover and Cookie Monster. He naps with me. We ignore my belly.

My husband takes our son to the park and then for ice cream. My boy comes home and jumps in my bed. He puts his hand on my cheek. “Miss you, Mommy.”


She comes six weeks too soon. She cries, poops, pees and breathes. My husband holds her in one hand. Her name is Bahiyyih. It means “Light upon Light”. She is my surprise. My delight.




*NOTE: The Prayer my husband said is from the Baha'i Writings:

"Is there any Remover of Difficulties save God? Save Praised be God. He is God. All are His servants and all abide by His Bidding."


All words (with the exception of identified quotations)©Sharon Nesbit-Davis, 2011, All rights reserved