4stitchesX3The wound gaped open, gasping airs of breath prior to being entombed by Iodoform and Mepilex.  The wound wasn’t healing; it stretched sadly across her abdomen.  The stitches fighting to sew her flesh together would do little to lace the seams to her heart.

The surgeon’s delicate incision symbolized dashed dreams.  She’d always wanted kids, longed for cluttered floors full of Legos and Lincoln Logs.  She even kept her spare room bare, picturing the walls bursting with blue and popping with pink.  As she walked through the maze of her local store, she would smile while passing aisles of toys.

“No cries would be heard from the monitor on her nightstand. ”

As she stayed stunned in her hospital bed, she just kept leering down at her abdomen, the door to her soul.  In her thoughts, time stood still.  In one moment, she felt fine; the next she felt failure.  In her world, time stood still, an excruciating moment lost somewhere between the immediate future and the recent past.

Now, the possibilities she hung her hopes on were quickly becoming faded memories.  No cries would be heard from the monitor on her nightstand.  No bottles would to be washed.  The emptiness in her belly would come to mirror the new emptiness in her life.


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