This Woman’s Work
The third door was more difficult to gain entry into. It opened but offered so much resistance that Heather heard herself grunt as she pushed harder against it. She imagined a monster pressing on it from the other side and then cursed her vivid imagination.
When the reluctant door finally opened, Heather found herself standing in a cold, sterilized room. The walls were a dull gray and the shiny instruments sitting in a nearby medical tray didn’t induce positive energy. Heather noticed a lonely cot in the corner and felt a sharp pain in her abdomen. She grabbed at it with both hands and when she brought them back up, the tips of her fingers dripped with dark blood. Heather screamed.
“What’s wrong, dear?”
A short pudgy nurse ran into the room wearing an expression of concern. Absorbing her medical attire, Heather darted her eyes around the room, suspecting she knew where she was. She had stood in that same spot before and every emotion she’d experienced seventeen years before came rushing back at her. Heather shook her head back and forth as if she hoped it would shake away the scene before her.
“Oh, no,” she panted.
“God, I can’t. I can’t do this.” She bent over and placed her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath.
“Dear, it’s too late. It’s over and you were very brave,” the nurse said sweetly.
“No!’ Heather screamed.
She couldn’t re-experience the dreadful place, no matter what the consequences. She told herself it was a mistake. She had traveled too far and accidentally opened the door to Hell.
Heather stood upright and attempted to walk toward the cot. The pain was almost debilitating upon her first step and she stopped to scream again.
“Oh, make it stop please,” she whispered through the sharp pains.
Heather referred not as much to the sensation of an ice pick being shoved inside of her as to the black hole where her heart used to be.
“Come sit down, dear,” offered the kind nurse.
She hurried to Heather’s side and gently guided her to the cot. After placing a cold, damp rag on her forehead, she played with her hair until her patient started to breathe normal again.
“Now, what’s gotten you so worked up again?” she asked.
“Where’s my baby?” Heather cried.
The nurse shook her head and then bowed sadly. When she looked back up, Heather saw the compassion in her eyes and she knew where it came from.
“Your baby is gone, dear,” she said softly. “Gone where?” Heather screamed.
“You killed her, dear. Don’t you remember?” she asked.
The sweet voice stating such ugly words was a disturbing contrast.
“Why?” Heather sobbed.
Her cries were uncontrollable and they lasted for a long time. She didn’t flinch when she noticed the digital clock on a corner table flashing 11:11. She would have been surprised if it had been stuck on any other time. Instead, she turned her attention to the nurse again.
“Why did I do this?” Heather asked again, more quietly.
The nurse stared back in confusion.
“Because you loved somebody else more, dear,” she answered, patting Heather on the knee “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Yes, there is!’ Heather retorted angrily. “Who would I have loved more than my own child?”
She knew a mistake had been made because she would never choose anyone or anything over the life of a baby.
“You, dear,” the nurse said suddenly serious. “You loved yourself more.”
And Heather remembered. She clearly recalled the time in her life when no other alternatives presented themselves and she had justified her decisions. Hindsight showed her many options that she was blind to at