Something Tangible

Stigma and Rage

"I think about that first miscarriage every single day. I know it was just a cluster of cells but it was a child, my child. It may have been the size of a lima bean, but it contained an entire lifetime's worth of hopes, hugs, tears, birthdays, graduations, fights and love that was never realized. It was a living, breathing entity that had a soul and was taken before its time — before it had a chance to ... be."

Steven shivered at Katarina's mournful but beautiful lament to her dead child.

"I had a name picked out for a little girl — Sabrina, very Parisian," she recalled, as if in a trance. "But for some reason I always pictured it being a boy. I don't know why — just silly intuition."

"Sabrina is a lovely name," Steven said.

"Yes it would've been," she smiled wistfully. "For some reason the ectopics never struck the same chord in me. I knew off the bat something was wrong with those. There were telltale signs and I just knew they weren't meant to work out. But that first one, that first baby, it was supposed to work out," she said, her voice rising, wobbly but unwavering.

He kissed the top of her head and tucked an errant strand behind her ear. Steven didn't want to interrupt, but he needed to show her that he cared. More than care... "You shouldn't have to carry around this burden every day Katarina. I wish I could take it from you."

"I appreciate that. It's no one's fault or responsibility though. And you heal, physically at least, but it takes such a lingering toll on you mind. Infertility doesn't happen overnight. It slowly chips away at your sanity, month after month, until before you know it, years of your life have disappeared, along with the person you used to be. I had spiraled down so far, so gradually, that by the time I re-emerged, I didn't recognize who I was any more.

"I robotically cycled through the stages of grief, but they never really end. That's just convenient psychobabble. People assume you get over it but that's bullshit," she spit out, the vehemence in her voice catching her by surprise.

"Sorry," she exhaled. "But you never get over it. Time blunts the pain but you still feel hollow, like someone ripped your insides out and then expects you to walk around with this gaping hole in your stomach and act like everything's normal. It's a yawning chasm that can't be filled. That's probably what they mean by that old-fashioned term barren," she mused, an inappropriate giggle escaping her lips.

"Times may have changed but society hasn't. Motherhood is an intrinsic part of being a woman Steven. It's your basic duty — it's what you're built for. Hell, all those stupid medical studies say the whole reason why men are always attracted to younger women is evolutionary instinct. They're fertile and men want to implant their 'seed' in them," she said, making air quotes and rolling her eyes in disgust.

"And when you reach a certain age and you haven't borne children, you're considered damaged goods."

He cringed at her derisive tone.

"Oh sure, not everyone winds up having children. But most people do. And whenever an older woman — no matter how successful, how content — is asked if she has kids and the answer is no, people instinctively feel sorry for her. She's viewed as a failure — pure and simple," Katarina declared in a tone that brooked no argument.

"After a certain age, people stop asking anyway. When I got married, people bombarded me on my wedding day with questions about when we were having kids — like I was already knocked up or something! But then slowly, before I knew it, people stopped asking. They had given up on me. My body had failed them, and me.

"I was — I am — a failure," she said, utterly dejected and defeated.

Steven felt his heart splinter and couldn't take it any more. He abruptly yanked her back and hauled her into a bear hug that cut off her circulation, his large frame swallowing hers.