You wait for this nurse and, as calmly as you can, ask about Caroline, clasping your hands together so you won’t swing them about and scare her. She pauses by the side of your bed and looks into your eyes. She’s wearing floral scrubs and has graying hair. She tells you not to worry. Caroline is with her dad and there’s a whole community of people helping him. “Right now, your job is to take care of yourself, so you can get better.”
A strange sensation comes over you when she says this. It feels like you’re her child, and you almost ask for a hug. Instead, you wrap your arms around yourself. Your breasts flatten painlessly against your body, and you realize they’re empty. For the first time since you started IVF, your body is your own. Take care of myself. You exhale deeply, comforted by how easy a task that is. Even with a broken body and mind, you can handle being responsible for only one life. But guilt swiftly crowds this moment of relief.
“I’m a monster,” you say.
The nurse shakes her head in gentle disapproval.
“You got very sick,” she says, leaning in closer. “After I had my son, I wasn’t okay for a long time. I had some scary things in my head. I was afraid to be alone with him.”
You start to cry, and she holds your hand.
“I want you to remember something,” she says. “It was your body that saved your baby’s life. She was protected by her mother, even in that terrible moment.”
You don’t deserve this kindness. You didn’t fall like that on purpose. But still, you remember what she says, and it helps you survive everything that comes next.