Positive.
Crying.
Changing dream that creeps into reality.
Bedpan.
Unspoken death.
No one to listen.
Unable to carry a child.
No one to explain.
Unable to speak to the G.P.
They made everything seem like it would be fine.
Not interested in seeing my medical files.
Red room, and familiar bed.
Strip from the waste down.
Relax your knees.
Needle passing through the walls of my veins.
Leaving with appointment.
Scared.
Void.
Asking I didn’t exist.
Not wanting to go through this again.
Wanting this child?
Split by mind and body.
Body says, yes you are pregnant and you will go through it. 

Mind saying it probably wasn’t meant to be.
Routine checks.
You don’t dream, you just loose the space of time. Drowning on my own spit,
unable to speak.
The pain.
I recognized that pain.
I am afraid you will be here longer than expected.
I am afraid we had to cut you open.
Pain.
As he held my hand he said he couldn’t find the baby, it was in the ovary.
He had to take part of the ovary away.
Strange, it should have been the size of a tomato
but it was the size of a grape.
The removal of the stomach suction tube.
Cars.
Perfect Shell.
Be normal.
Come with a guarantee.