Dear Memory, p. 98: Dead Baby

This section, about Chang’s miscarriage, is shattering.

My hospital wristband, the one that simply says baby boy, still sits inside my wallet like a tombstone. I imagine all the dead babies together somewhere on a large playground, swinging and sliding. And for the moment, I forget to grieve.

I had another doctor check just in case, hoping that it was a mistake. But the baby was still dead. Small black dots for eyes, paddles for hands. When the machine automatically printed out a picture of the baby, the doctor silently ripped it off and stuffed it in his pocket.

I paid a twenty-dollar copay to see a picture of my dead baby on a screen. On my way out, the doctor told me about his new Botox business and to come back soon. He would give me a discount.

Dear Memory: Letters on Writing, Silence, and Grief, p. 98

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: