My body is empty, nearly all evidence of Gabriel's stay inside me is gone.
My breasts are full and hard and hot with engorgement as my body tries to make milk he does not need.
My bump, that I loved, is gone. My stomach is flabby and as flat as it has been in years.
I am only just over 300 pounds, a weight I have not seen since before my marriage, maybe five years ago. There is an effective diet, but not one I recommend trying.
I feel empty and tired, broken. I eat, but not much or well. I sleep, and my dreams are fragmented, haunted. I have not gotten up during the night in three nights, my nightly ritual gone now. I can sleep on my back and roll to my side with no pain, no ache.
My friend Sarah and I have been talking about what happened, speculating among the questions. She has suggested that rather than my body failing us, betraying us as it feels right now that perhaps my body tried hard to keep us together, fighting a losing battle all along, that the clots were not from the previa but perhaps from an abruption that was not identified, could not be seen. I find some comfort in the thought that perhaps my body has not betrayed me.
I need to tell about Gabriel's birth, but it hurts so much. There are so many questions and so much anger and blame. The care and direction I received were questionable at best, complete neglect at worst. Insensitivity abounded. There is little comfort to be had there.
We are going home in a few minutes. I am hoping for some healing there, hoping that my expectations are not too high. I know I cannot hide forever, but I need this time right now.