An Emergency Room Thanksgiving

Everything about the arrival of our baby in my life has been unusual.

Like the fact that I was admitted in an emergency room (ER) on this exact day 2 years ago (Thanksgiving 2021) when I found out I was expecting, while being checked for if my life was at risk. 

How did this happen?

We were on a marriage anniversary roadtrip to San Diego. I developed a sick stomach after dinner at a restaurant somewhere along Big Sur. This worsened over the entire trip and we were convinced that I had some kind of nasty food poisoning.

After we came back to SF and with no sign of recovery from this constant vomiting we headed to an urgent care. The doctor gave me some medicines for food poisoning and said they’d be in touch with the blood test results.

Crossing Sue Bierman park, I get a call from the doctor to immediately head to the ER. My blood test had confirmed that I was pregnant but my symptoms indicated an ectopic pregnancy a.k.a. my life could be at risk. (What?!?)

I don’t think that I’ve ever processed that car ride from Sue Bierman park to the only ER which was open on Thanksgiving evening in SOMA. 

In a matter of seconds my life had changed. 

I was expecting (What?!?) 

and btw, all of that was at risk (What?!?)

By the time I reached St. Francis Hospital’s desk assistant, my brain felt like soup. I attempted to speak but nothing came out.

Sahil explained the situation to the ER intake specialist. He was attempting to do this against a backdrop of:

A (homeless) lady wailing and spitting at anyone who would pay attention that she had COVID. A tall man leathered up covered in both blood and tattoos shouting insults at the ER staff for not paying attention to him.

My entry into the ER was expedited once the intake person went through my referral form. Inside there was so much pain and anguish in the air, it worsened my nausea.

I sat through those intense moments as the doctor performed the required tests and left the room. Between the sounds of wailing, vomit and angry insults being hurled at the ER staff, I tried to make sense of what was happening to me and what might happen from here onwards.

Sahil was not allowed to accompany me into the ER (covid rules). After what felt like an eternity, the doctor came in. Smiling. She dragged in an ultrasound machine and pointed at a tiny area on the screen. “Congratulations, everything is normal. These things happen sometimes. False positive (shrug). Congratulations again! You should soon feel as normal as a pregnant lady can feel (wink).” Clearly, this was the happiest thing she had said the whole day. She definitely seemed more excited than I was.

I, on the other hand, felt the same way one feels when a roller coaster ride ends. I finally felt my breath settle, my heart find its way back into my body from whichever high paced dimension it had decided to ascend to. And my brain solidify back into an organ.

So atleast my life was not at risk. Phew!

So there was only this one other “small little” detail now to deal with: I was expecting.

I walked out of the ER.

Sahil said “I stepped out of the waiting room to avoid catching COVID and buy a physical newspaper.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, so that we may have a physical souvenir of today.”

After that we drove back home in silence. We couldn’t get ourselves to speak about this incident for the next 4 months. 

We had touched the edge of life and death simultaneously. (And we did not have the words to process it yet).

This was to be the running theme of our little one’s arrival. 

Duality. Always. Together and Intense.

2 years since then, I have had to field many questions about my pregnancy and motherhood in general. I hate to say it but almost none of the conventional ideas even begin to capture what the discourse should be when it comes to bringing new life into the world. Thanks to patriarchy, there are not enough words in our language. Not enough literacy in our culture. That sad feeling of knowing that your reality is so distant and distinct from patriarchal and hence common ideas about motherhood. How do you even begin to process the gap between the “everyday miracle” and the actual reality that so many women and new parents face. This has overwhelmed me.

Anyway, 24th November 2021’s WSJ still sits on our bookshelf so that we may remember that day and try to process it, like I am doing today.

Happy Thanksgiving!