“Failure to Progress” by B. Bergin-Foss
26 hours of labor silenced your inner goddess,
fear seeped through your skin,
“We have to get her in there. The OR is closing
up for the night,” a doctor’s whispered confirmation
of her unspoken timeline for just another patient forced
your hand to sign on the line while her patience clocked out.
You were not prepared for the inner fight of failing
to progress as an expectant mother
Forever led
to believe that giving
birth required
medical intervention, led
to believe birth was scary, too painful.
Led away from your instincts.
You breathed in this fear without questioning
if the air was tainted.
Only thought of the journey back in time, wished to walk
out of the clinic
to find a different more supportive option
to alter the birth plan you were instructed to not write.
You were told not to worry.
You were told to trust medicine.
You were told standard procedure.
They ignored your plea
ignored your body
Your body
on your back
became a number on a clipboard
scribed failure.
Like the magician’s assistant, you waited to be sawed
apart. The blue sheet strung up prevented
you from witnessing the doctor’s act. Her slicing,
pulling, rearranging, tugging, taking.
Despite the anesthesia, this moment remained unnumbed.
Salty tears
puddled in your ears, and drained
into your hair when you rocked your head from side to side
in disbelief, you felt your husband wipe tears
from your face, since your hands were bound
at your sides,
his hands traveled to his face,
wiped his tears away, blended your sorrows together.