Ok, I cheated.  This week we were supposed to do flash fiction inspired by the word LIFE.  This is not fiction.  This happened to me four years ago.  But it follows the plot triangle of a story and it’s…um…flash.

I wrote it this week in my Writer’s Workshop I am doing.

Critique welcome.


I didn’t know what to do with my hands.  I kept running my thumbs over my fingers and adjusting my rings.

The room felt so full.  An exam room is not made for four people.

I could feel that my eyes were wide with apprehension.  I stared silently at Cort hoping he could provide me with some sort of reassurance, but when our eyes met, I could feel his worry match mine.  The deep line in the center of his brow-line mirrored my own dread.

I turned my focus on the professionals in the room.  I searched the face of my nurse for the look of routine.  I scrutinized the doctor’s demeanor for the assurance that all this was normal.

But instead I was asked to lie down.  To try to relax.

While the nurse busied herself, I found my words, “is this going to hurt?”

She paused suddenly, stopping in the middle of her prescribed procedure.  Her face softened.  She looked at Cort and told him to come stand by my head and hold my hand.  And that no, it would not hurt.  But it would probably be a bit uncomfortable.

It was.  Uncomfortable.

But more uncomfortable was the silence of the doctor as he searched.  And searched.  And didn’t speak.

I could feel the burn of the fiery tears in the corners of my eyes.   But I wasn’t going to let them come.  There was business at hand.  I had to know the facts and not let my emotions get a hold on me.

Both Cort and I stared at the black and white screen attempting to see whatever the doctor was looking for.

Finally Cort asked the doctor if everything was Ok.

“Well,” and he didn’t continue.

He didn’t have to.  I knew.  I asked if we could take a break so I could use the bathroom.

I can’t remember if I really had to go or if I just needed to leave the room.

When I came back there was no need to lie back down.

There was nothing to see.


Did you enter yesterday’s giveaway to win a bracelet?  You should do that.

Also?  With it being blog conference season?  There is a MUST enter giveaway that went up today.

About Katie

Just a small town girl...wait no. That is a Journey song. Katie Sluiter is a small town girl, but she is far from living in a lonely world. She is a middle school English teacher, writer, mother, and wife. Life has thrown her a fair share of challenges, but her belief is that writing through them makes her stronger.


  1. Beautifully written and so touching. I would give you a hug if I could.

  2. I don’t care that you cheated with non fiction. This needed to be written. And oh, I’m so sorry. So so sorry.

  3. I’m with Alison. This needed to be written and it was written well. Really well, Kate. I’m sorry for your loss.

  4. Besides the fiction part, I think you stuck to the prompt beautifully, and I am so, so glad you wrote this.

    You wove the story so tightly and cleanly, taking us into that room with you, that somewhat infuriating way that doctors and nurses busily go about their business when all we want is good news 🙁

    The part about Cort’s worry and the ending broke my heart, even though I knew it was coming, because Eddie’s not old enough for this to have been his ultrasound 🙁

  5. So sorry, and I can relate…it’s almost like you were telling my story as well. So very well written…beautiful. (hugs)

  6. You brought out such important details to capture the emotion of this experience. The setting, the rings, the words, the thoughts….and yes you pulled them all into one neatly packaged story and handed it with a POW!
    On a personal note, thank you for posting this. My son and daughter in law experienced this, and I never have. It changed them. Your openness to share this helps others to understand.
    I didn’t post this week, looking forward to reading and learning from each of you.

  7. Wow. I have been on that examination table. I am so sorry you had to go through it. As a co-worker of mine said at the time, “That sucks.”

    Very powerfully written. Thank you.

  8. The story you just shared could have been mine. Exactly.

    I think many of us have had the same gut wrenching, heart breaking experience and for some reason it’s not until you go through it that you learn how many other women have as well.

    It’s like you’ve become part of a secret club that you didn’t know you joined.

    Beautifully written.

  9. You’re so talented, and honest. I love reading your posts every day before I even get out of bed. ::hugs::

  10. my heart was with you, I never had m/c, but after our IVF and subsuquent BFPs, when we were ready for our first u/s the first tech couldn’t find anything in my uterus, my twins were there of course, just hiding, but that moment, that drive to the “main office” to see a DR and not a PA was the most gut wrenching of my life.

    You described this in such beautiful detail, that my heart was breaking with yours.

    that last line, that is what classic, “Stay with me all my life” kind of books, articles and pieces are made of. WOW, Katie, just wow.

    and hugs, big big hugs.

  11. I have loved reading the “under 300 words” today (I’m half a day ahead of the rest of you …) but yours hit home …. thank you for sharing … truly.

  12. OH, sweetie. This is heartbreaking and beautifully written.
    Thanks for sharing it.

  13. That something so enormous and complicated should be shrunk down into an exam room and the word, “well,” makes me so very sad for you.

    But balanced against the joy that is Eddie?

    My heart is full for you.

  14. I could feel the heaviness of it all in every word. Very painful. I’m so sorry.

  15. What a gauntlet of emotions you just ran me through. Panic and worry, anticipation and deep sadness.
    I’m so sorry for your loss. I too have miscarried and have felt that sting.
    I heard my voice in your words. {{hugs}} to you.

  16. This is beautifully raw Katie.
    I could feel your emotion and fear through your words.
    My heart broke.

  17. This makes my heart ache. I know this scene all too well. I am so sorry. I wish I could reach through the computer and give you a giant hug. xoxo

  18. Very well-written and I’d hug you too, if I could. I’ve been there myself and it’s not something I’d wish on anyone.

  19. I could not imagine having to go through this. But now I don’t have to since I can visualize it perfectly through your words. Every word adds to the heartbreak, the fear, the tension.

  20. Tim@sogeshirts says

    So sorry that you and your husband had to go through that.

  21. You express such hard things so beautifully. Every.single.time. Sending love.

  22. Just…hugs. I can’t begin to imagine.

  23. Beautifully written. I wish I could just give you a hug for this {just a few too many miles in the way now}.

  24. This needed to be written. And it was so beautifully written. My heart broke with you. I’m so so sorry.

  25. (((((((HUGS))))))))

  26. I can imagine needing to leave…to not be where you would hear what you already knew.

    The strength it must have taken to return to that room?

    I can’t imagine.

    Love to you all, now. Much love.

  27. I’m so, so sorry.

    This was me, almost 4 weeks ago now. It was all so surreal, those first moments.

    Big hug to you.

  28. Your writing here is undeniably perfect and from the heart. I’m so very sorry for your pain. I too just wrote a tough memory post yesterday, must be a theme for us this week. But it’s so cathartic to put it all down in black and white, isn’t it? After yesterday’s pain, today I wrote probably my funniest post ever! I hope you found laughter after writing this, too. Hugs, dear lady.

  29. Oh, Katie…

    I hope it helped to write this, but I’m sure it was hard, too.

    Much love to you…


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