Читать онлайн «Arsen: A Broken Love Story»

I’m lost.

I’m drifting away…

Drowning in a sea of sorrow and pain as waves of regret keep pulling me down where an undertow of resentment won’t let me break free.

Maybe I should just give up?

As I stare blankly into Dr. Pajaree’s beautiful dark eyes, listening to her prognosis in her pragmatic, yet friendly voice, I can’t help wondering where the magic has gone? Is real life contaminating our fairy tale romance with all its ugliness?

Yes.

Maybe.

“It’s better known as habitual abortion…recurrent pregnancy loss… RPL…three or more pregnancies that end in misca…”

With my arms tightly wrapped around my stomach, I rock back and forth as I try to listen to what she’s saying, her words drifting in and out of my consciousness.

I know I should be paying more attention because she’s explaining to me why I’m not woman enough, why I can’t keep a baby in my body long enough to be able to hold it in my arms, but all I want to do is shake off the cold blanket of numbness that enfolds me.

It’s not working. I’m still so very cold, so very dead inside. Feeling Ben’s strong arm wrap around my shoulders stops the manic rocking, but even his warm embrace can’t help me get rid of this helplessness threatening to take over.

I wonder why doctors wear white coats. It’s such an ugly color.

Sterile.

Ben gives my shoulder a supportive squeeze, waking me from my drunken-like stupor.

“Tell us what to do, where to go, who to see... it doesn’t matter. We will do it, Dr.

“Yes, Ben. ” Dr. Pajaree looks at Ben with understanding in her eyes for a moment, then turns in my direction. “Cathy, since this is your third miscarriage I think it’s time we ran some tests on both of you. I’m talking about parental chromosome testing, blood tests for thrombophilia, thyroid function, ovarian function…if we can identify the cause for RPL, then we can look at treatment options. ”

“E-Excuse me. I need to use the ladies’ room. Sorry. ”

The chair makes a horrible screeching sound as I forcefully push it backwards and leave the room, but I don’t care. Running to the bathroom, I lock myself inside and stand in front of the sink. I notice a sheen of sweat covering my forehead and my entire body seems to be shaking slightly.

Swallowing hard, I close my eyes as I try to compose myself.