A long way down

Rushing to the hospital at 2 a.m., I tell myself, “No hurry, the baby is already dead.” Nevertheless I feel compelled to get there quickly. The drive is quiet, the city as sleepy as it ever gets.

I am late for the blessed event. One of my specialist colleagues is cleaning up. The lighting is low, the manner funereal. The specialist speaks in hushed, compassionate tones. Then he leaves.

I sit for a long time, offering my presence to the parents' grief and anger. They try to absorb the loss of their chromosomally normal child, killed by our need for reassurance.

The nurse brings her in and places her in her father's arms. “I didn't think I would want to see her or touch her,” he says. Then he turns to me. “Carl, this is Kim.” His eyes lock on mine, brimming with tears.

I become aware of the music being piped into the room: Nat King Cole singing “Unforgettable.”

Later, after all the forms are signed, I return to say good-bye. Simply entering the room takes an effort of will. It seems to me a holy place, where the loss of a life is being honoured. Mother and father embrace in the middle of the room, Kim between them, and they waltz. Through a little speaker in the ceiling Sarah McLachlan sings:

it's a long way down, it's a long way down, it's a long way down to the place where we started from ...

Carl Wiebe Assistant professor Department of Family Practice University of British Columbia Vancouver, BC