Breathe
By Florencia Torres
When I was in the examination room of my gynecologist for the first ultrasound of my second pregnancy, in the middle of a video call with my husband to know that "everything was fine" after 7 weeks of gestation, the doctor gradually began to change his tone of voice, moving the ultrasound from one side to another, until he called his colleague, this was already bad news for me.
It took me longer to hang up with my husband and get dressed again, than to be in the office listening to the steps to follow for a curettage, that day I did not leave the hospital, it was my second loss in less than a year.
They say that hope is the last thing to die, but for me, at that moment, it was the last thing on my mind. They proposed a second insemination, we knew that the cases of success at my age were few, but we could do it, the millions of hormones that ran in my blood, body and brain said otherwise. It would only be a cycle of hormones that would help me to grow chonchitos eggs and ready for fertilization and thus achieve a pregnancy, high risk, but finally a pregnancy. Without leaving behind the anticoagulants so that it would not be a third abortion, the first day the injection hurt normal level, for the last prick in the abdomen I already had a minefield, all purple and not even bear someone touching me, less introduce a needle full of cold and painful liquid. In the end each injection was a constant reminder of the struggle that had begun.
