Aplin & Martin on Sanguine Policy

I started bleeding on a Sunday. I was niave then. I thought the hospital could help, so I dropped my breakfast and headed to the ER. That is my biggest regret. I am celiac, and a bit germaphobic. Or maybe my fiancé was lazy. But I was ravenous, spotting, and somehow hopeful my baby could be saved. After the first ultrasound, they made me an appointment for another ultrasound in the afternoon. More hours dragging by, even hungrier, still spotting blood, in a little hospital gown, being brave. Making it light, because *I* AM THE STRONG ONE. And surely, another ultrasound meant the little one might be fine right? I wish they would have given me the gory details. I didn't know what I was in for. I was grateful that this part of nature had discreetly happened on a weekend. A little blood, and try again right? Just the messy stuff us women don't talk about. Keep the pads in the pants and soldier on, righto! Well, there was no heartbeat. And things weren't going right. So I needed to take medication to flush out dead tissue so I wouldn't get sepsis. I had a week off work. Heavy bloodloss. Labour pains. I was still bleeding when I went back to work. I developed a fever, a dangerous sign of sepsis, so I had to get scheduled for an emergency ultrasound. Work brought in some young guy that I wasn't introduced to in the rounds. My future replacement. Management was really unhappy that I needed an emergency ultrasound. My pregnancy sealed my termination, and I didn't even get a bundle of joy for my sacrifice. I found out that my coworkers thought I did way better work than him, even when I was pregnant or bleeding out my baby. The glass ceiling is real, but I guess my skills are vindicated. Fourty days and nights of unending blood seeping from between my legs, and months of post partum depression brought on by the haze of pregnancy hormones slowly clearing from my veins. In this world, you can be sledge hammering meters of iron through asphalt better than the man that replaces you for the crime of gestation, while your only child is a hemorrhage in your underwear, and still be told that you are just too sensitive. Because real women smile more while bleeding out their babies with flawless hair and makeup.