She lay there cold, with legs exposed, as they spoke. Backs turned to her; she caught few words.
“A mess. . .”
“No more feeling. . .”
“Stiches.”
They looked over at her and she held their gaze, wanting answers. The doctor approached, mouth moving in silent speech as he searched for the right words.
“Ma’am, there have been…some tears. You will need stiches to help the healing. I’ll…do my best, but you may never-.”
Her stomach turned, she knew.
A squeak.
She pulled a blanket over her chest as she looked down, heart swelling as her baby suckled.
Warm…and strong.
© 2015-2021 Rebecca Glaessner
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