They looked at me on the chair. They confirmed that the pain is cervical, the fertilized egg is expelled. To reduce the pain, I was finally injected with papaverine, which was supposed to dilate the cervix and an antibiotic.

They could have injected me earlier, but no, they forgot, they waited until I howled in pain.

And I really howled, I sat on the cold floor next to the chair and couldn’t even move to a chair. The nurse tried to persuade me to return to the room.

— Am I going to howl there? People sleep there. I'll wait for the medicine to take effect here.

— No. We need to go to the ward.

— Am I bothering you? Am I not letting you sleep? Stay here for those same vaunted seven minutes, during which you say, the antispasmodic will work. Don't drive away.

vFine.

She tried to put socks and a robe on me, I took them off, it was hot and painful, I kept howling. The pain did not subside.

— Inject papaverine into my vein.

— Fine.

The tired nurse was apparently ready to do anything just to get back to the sofa. She complied with the request and after a minute I felt better. I returned to bed. It's not heroin, guys, it didn't let me go. I only reduced the pain by a hundredth part, which was now at least bearable.

Apparently the cervix had dilated.

I woke up a couple of hours later with the sensation of a foreign body on the pad. The thing is that I don’t wear them during my period, the tampon does everything, so it’s so easy to feel them when the dryness in my panties disappears.

In the toilet, in the light, I saw him. The very thing that caused so many problems.

“Thank God you came out. God, I avoided the surgery and the cleanup. Consider half the job done, now hCG won’t let you down.”

The pink-gray two by three centimeter formation was mercilessly flushed down the toilet, and I fell asleep until the morning.

On Monday, my tests showed a sharp drop in pregnancy hormones and I was discharged on my own responsibility. I had to fly to Kazakhstan on business and I couldn’t miss the trip, there was no one to replace me, and besides, I wanted to prove to myself and the world that I was not giving up, no circumstances would break me. My neighbor was very surprised (considering that she was generally incapable of any emotion other than apathy) that I did not give a damn about the doctors’ recommendations to stay for cleaning and rest, and discharged myself. I took antibiotics and antiprotozoal drugs for a week and donated blood. After the business trip, the tests showed nothing. I was completely cleansed. My body coped thanks to the will of the owner who controls it.

A plus that I noted after pregnancy. My breasts have softened and they no longer have pronounced lumps, this is great, the doctors noted that the mastopathy has decreased.

The downside is a slight feeling of disappointment. I firmly believed that I would be able to carry the baby, my body would not reject the pregnancy. I was so self-confident that I even pissed off those around me. The miscarriage knocked my arrogance down. I landed a little, settled down, and became more attentive to people.

No, the minus is not that I have become more sensitive, but that my confidence has been shaken.

I cried, it’s true, I cried for a total of two hours during the entire two weeks after the incident, sparingly, not out loud, without attracting attention from the outside. I didn’t even allow my husband to sympathize with me much, but rather comforted him myself. This is why he appreciates me. For perseverance and courage.

However, this minus can be turned into a plus. Broken arrogance, a sense of self-superiority, turned into love and understanding of women.

I'm just like you. Nothing better.

My friend lost her child after giving birth, what a tragedy. For nine months she and her husband waited for their princess. A beautiful young couple, a perfect pregnancy, a strong-willed girl, a neat tummy.

Love even dived into an ice hole at Epiphany while she was in her sixth month. She looked like something from the cover, tall, without stretch marks, without excess volume, healthy and happy. Her husband doted on her, he made a crib, furnished an apartment for the arrival of a new family member, literally fluttered with happiness, there was so much love and admiration in his stories that we all wished them the best.

Three months later, we were shocked by the news that the girl died on the second day after birth. Some kind of vice, not related to diving into an ice hole, toxoplasmosis from the cat with whom Lyubov lived throughout her pregnancy, not related to any obvious reason.

That's what the doctors said.

This was a real tragedy. This, and not my frozen pregnancy. Yes, that's what the doctors called her before the self-abortion happened.

I didn't suffer.

The guys were grieving. But let me tell you, they are tough nuts to crack too. They can't be broken.

I saw them a month after the tragedy and didn’t recognize them. They joked and laughed, hugged and supported each other. Drugs, antidepressants, psychologist, alcohol, hypnosis, mutual madness? Nothing out of this. The guys suffered their due and moved on, hand in hand, only forward, not knowing fear and sadness.

This is how I see the right attitude towards life. Don't be a victim. Cry it all out and move on with your life.

Are there worse situations?

Oh yeah.

I delivered a baby (when I was in medical practice) from a woman who knew that the baby