A faded hospital gown hung loosely around my disproportioned torso as I laid hugging my belly on a cold, metal triage cot. Moments earlier, the nurse had left the room after solemnly removing the fetal monitor from my belly, announcing what the machine’s silence had already spoken to my spirit.
I was in labor, but no heartbeat had been found. Somehow in the unseen places of my womb, life had quietly and unsuspectingly welcomed death. Earlier signs of lessening movement had caused alarm, prompting me at 36 weeks to put my first-time mother anxiousness to rest.
Except, my fears were not alleviated. The silence of a machine and the matter-of-fact words of the attending nurse had validated them all.
In those moments, it was just me and God, and a whole lot of questions and pain.
This article was published as part of the Hear Him Louder essay series. To read the full story, visit Marnie Hammar’s blog here.