I wanted to wear open-toe shoes to my sister-in-law’s baby shower, so I knew I should clean my toenails and re-apply some polish. Having pale skin, my toes benefit from darker colors that pop, so I picked a dark red, almost burgundy shade.
Five days later, that red seemed like a cruel irony as I bled my pregnancy out into the tub. At the doctor’s office, before going to the hospital, my midwife – trying to keep things light, I assume – told me she loved my toenails. I glanced at them, uncaringly. “Oh, thanks… funny thing, I did them for a baby shower.”
The follow-up appointment from my D&C is tomorrow. As usual, I can’t sleep, and I started crying again, realizing… realizing so many things. The last time I saw my midwife she was sending me to the hospital in the ambulance, not much hope. I started re-living every detail of that day… and now I have to go back for an appointment that should be to see how much my belly has grown, to hear my baby’s heartbeat, to make sure everything is alright… but it isn’t. Instead, what is she going to tell me? You’re fine. Yeah, physically, I guess. I almost feel like my body has betrayed me, betrayed Shiloh, for healing so quickly.
I suddenly realized I was still wearing the dark red nail polish, and I didn’t want it on anymore, didn’t want to be wearing it tomorrow. I wiped off the vestiges of those dark red memories and re-applied bright pink with a layer of sparkles.
Moving on, I guess.