Chapter Text
Day 6
Her eyes remained closed as MJ lay on a gurney in the recovery area of the surgical wing. She could slowly feel herself reorienting back to the room. Her senses picked up chatter from nearby nurses, but she couldn't quite make out what they were saying. Toes wiggled. Skin brushed against knitted hospital blankets. Legs tangled in sheets. Annoying beeping persisted relentlessly.
He was gone. Or she. MJ will never know. She no longer felt a presence inside of her. She touched her hollow belly as if to verify that she was alone in her body once again.
She was empty. Literally. Emotionally. Psychologically.
Her eyes remained closed as the room got louder. Her skin receptors were more sensitive. Her mouth felt like it was full of cotton balls. So. Fucking. Dry.
Her eyes remained closed. As if opening them would indicate the next phase of this surgical procedure. Post-opp recovery. Post, as in after the fact. As in, the procedure was over. As in, they removed her baby from her belly, and she was no longer pregnant. As in, she'd have to face the undeniable fact that her baby was dead. And in some weird way, so was she.
What a strange phenomenon to go through the experience of losing your baby, yet claiming the title of parent feels odd. She was robbed of that title. That unique experience that so many others crave. Is that title earned? If so, how much does one need to tread through to earn the title of parent? Mother. Father. She gave up alcohol, caffeine, coffee. Did she mention coffee? Started eating more vegetables. Spent countless money on prenatal vitamins, fish oil, and attended visit after visit with her doctors. She bought baby shoes and a holiday sweater that said she was eating Christmas cookies for two. She did an absurd amount of research on pregnancy and parenting. Researched foods to eat and stay away from. Researched pros and cons of formula vs. breast milk. Researched how microplastics contaminate food and bought all glass storage containers. She shopped and compared cribs and mattresses that wouldn't suffocate her baby while he slept. She told family and bought her cousin, who is like a sister to her, a mug that said Auntie in script. She did all this and more for her child, who was once alive inside her. Who took in oxygen. A fluttering heart rate of 144 beats per minute. She had a baby that was growing. Evolving. The size of a small fruit. And she was falling in love. But she is not a mother. Is she?
She read books about attachment theory and how the bond between mother and baby starts in utero. Some psychologists believe the bond begins as early as conception. Do women become mothers only if their baby breathes air after delivery? What about stillborn deliveries? Are those parents still allowed to call themselves parents? She thought, yes. She read and read and read about attachment, and was attached, alright. And now she doesn't know where her child is. Did it hurt? Did her baby suffer before his heart stopped for reasons unknown? Does the doctor 'discard' the baby after the procedure? What did they do with her baby?
A loss with no funeral.
There is nowhere she can go to mourn her baby. Her uterus will now be the empty grave she carries with her everywhere she goes. A permanent reminder of the loss just by looking at herself. Feeling herself. Being present in her own skin, will forever be a reminder of what was, what won't be, and what could have been.
What is she to say when people ask her if they're ever having kids? Obviously, that question is non of their business, but people often think they're entitled to ask after couples tie the knot. After a certain amount of time has passed since the wedding, people think it's okay to inquire about the next steps. Why does there always have to be a next step lurking in the future? What will she say? I was a mom for a hot minute, but my baby died, so, guess that sucks. Or maybe give it to them straight; I had a miscarriage . Yea, that's a setup to hear, 'you can try again soon,' or 'dont worry, it will happen when it happens,' or 'that happened to my best friend’s, sister’s, cousin’s bla bla bla.'
Maybe she doesn't want to try again. Maybe she loved her baby so much that she couldn't image going through something like this again. Maybe her heart couldn't handle another loss this big. Maybe don't tell grieving 'could have been' parents that they can simply try again. After 'trying' for years. As if 'could have been' parents didn't lose anything. Like if the baby wasn't tangible, did the baby ever exist?
Maybe she won't tell anyone at all.
Her eyes remained closed, but she was fully awake. Tears filled to the rims. Her lids the only barrier to keeping them contained. She held her breath and scrunched her eyes to prevent the waterworks from erupting, afraid the tears would never stop. If the floodgates opened, she would drown in it and never surface from the brink of darkness again.
It sounds dramatic. Absurd. Ridiculous. Some may think she didn't lose anything at all. People make appointments to have abortions all of the time. What loss is she even talking about? She has no hate or judgment for any woman who chooses to abort. The world is complicated. Many reasons may lead an individual to make that kind of decision, and to MJ, it wasn't her business. Her business was in resolving the loss that she felt within herself. And she wondered how other 'could have been' mothers feel.
A few tears escape from the far corners of her eyes. She couldn't contain it. The pain was too great. Her eyes remained closed as she finally took in a shaky inhale. Mistake.
Hyperventilating. Panic. Pain. Despair. She was alone inside her body, and she hated it.
"I know, sweetheart," a nurse came over and held MJ's hand. "I know."
MJ tried to speak, but she couldn't get any words out. Was it the drugs in her system? Was it the panic attack? Will she be mute forever?
The nurse gently moved some stray curls from her forehead and whispered, "The loss is real now. That's why it hurts so much."
The nurse spoke for her. She put the words together perfectly. She said what MJ couldn't. It was real now. There was no going back. No way to save her baby. Her baby was dead, and she was alone inside her skin. She hated it.
She finally opened her eyes. Bright white and mint green colors flooded her vision. Blurry. Maybe from the tears. Maybe from the medication. Maybe from waking up from anesthesia. She looked to her left and saw the resemblance of a nurse coming back.
"This is for you," the petite nurse said as she handed MJ a 2 x 2-inch pink knitted square with a tag at the end. "We get these from a volunteer organization that makes these for parents who've miscarried."
MJ took it and held it in her hand, rubbing the knitted fabric between her fingertips. "The color doesn't necessarily mean that was the gender," the nurse added with a sympathetic smile before she stepped away.
A moment later, the doctor came over to check on her. She spoke softly, "How are you feeling, MJ?" The doctors face was soft with compassion. Her olive skin was flawless, with her light pink hijab framing her features beautifully. Dr. Bashir, her OBGYN she started seeing as soon as she found out she was pregnant. A light sense of comfort stirred within her as the familiar woman approached her.
'How was she feeling?' What a simple yet loaded question. How honest does Dr. Bashir want her to be? Is she just referring to any physical pain? Because she isn't in physical pain, yet the pain felt excruciating—ridiculous question.
"Okay," MJ settled for.
The doctor went over the next steps and insisted she take her time.
Eventually, they moved MJ to a changing room, where she struggled to get her pants back on. The uncomfortable diaper pad in her underwear was irritating. She felt mild cramping in her lower stomach. She placed her arms through her long sleeve shirt and pulled it over her head. Then her sweater. Socks. Shoes. Jacket. She moved through the steps on autopilot. A handmade crochet hat rested in her hand as the doctor knocked on the door.
"Come in," MJ instructed.
"Everything okay so far?"
Another. Stupid. Question. She adores her doctor but today every question felt like a threat that would unravel her pysche. Does she mean okay, as if she can physically dress herself? Okay, as in, she hasn't passed out from blood loss she feels in her underwear? Okay, as in, okay with the process? The end result of her procedure? Nothing was okay.
She settled again for something just as bland as the doctor's question, "yeah."
Dr. Bashir handed her brochures for grief groups, information about miscarriages and D & C's, and when to seek medical attention. MJ set a follow-up appointment with the secretary at the front desk. A nurse wheeled her out of the building, even though she could clearly walk. So odd, these protocols.
A fancy black car pulled up. The back door opened before the vehicle fully stopped.
"MJ," Peter said as he made his way over to her. He looked worried. Sad. Pained. She's never seen him like this before. The nurse started talking to Peter, but MJ zoned out. She was safe now. She didn't need to put on a brave face anymore. She didn't need to be mentally present. She could finally give in to the desire to check the fuck out. She felt Peter lift her bridal style and help her into the backseat of the car. She noticed Happy staring at her with deep sadness through the review mirror.
She leaned into Peter and openly cried for the first time ever in her life. She doesn't remember much after that.
~~
Peter paced in the penthouse for what felt like forever. He bit his nails and just paced. Back and forth. An unstoppable rhythm no one could pull him out of—
"Pete, she's going to be fine—"
"Don't. Tony, please... don't."
Tony nodded and walked into the kitchen while Peter continued to pace.
He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to feel. He didn't know what to think. What to say. How to be there for MJ when her surgery was over. He can't imagine what she must be feeling.
He couldn't understand how he was even feeling. He needed to shove that down and be there for MJ. How could he be there for her and acknowledge his own pain at the same time? His own grief over a child he never got to meet. Never got to hold. Never had the privilege to feel genuinely connected to, yet devastation took over any rational thought. So he shoved it down. Far far away. He couldn't be there for MJ if he were drowning in his own sorrow.
Was he a father? Does he have the right to call himself that? Is this what loss of a child feels like? He thinks not. How can he express his feelings of grief to 'real' parents who have lost their children? He's seen it happen on patrols. He's seen the devastation and unimaginable pain of loss. Children he couldn't save. He supposed this was another added to this list. It was out of his control. And he hated it.
Did he deserve to feel this much turmoil compared to 'real' parents who have lost, what he believes is, much more? 'Real' parents have memories. Right? He didn't have many memories of their relationship other than talking to his wife's stomach like a... well, he was thinking idiot, but that isn't really what he believes. Those moments were wonderful. Beautiful. The memories he shared with his wife meant everything. He regrets nothing. But now it means loss. Grief. Pain.
MJ was about four months along. She was starting to show. He read as much as he could get his hands on. When he wasn't working at SI, he was reading something. He and MJ often read together. Shared information. Exchanged research. They were preparing. They were ready. He guessed the universe didn't think so. Parker luck, he supposed.
His phone rang in his pocket as Tony reentered the living room with two steaming cups of coffee. "Uhh, Hello? MJ? You ready for me to pick you up?"
Absurd. He would have waited in the lobby for her, but due to COVID-19 restrictions, he had to leave the building. He would have stayed outside if Happy didn't shove him into the car. It was nearly 10 degrees outside. He would have been a popsicle. And he wouldn't have cared if it meant being there for his wife.
Her response was so muffled, nearly inaudible to normal hearing. But Peter heard it loud and clear, "....yes."
Wasting no time, Peter grabbed his jacket and ran for the stairwell. The elevator was too slow for his liking.
"Happy is in the car already, Pete!" Tony shouted as the doors closed behind Peter.
The drive felt like an eternity. They caught nearly every red light on the way to the surgical center. He could have been there already if he was able to swing. But MJ needed a car. She couldn't handle being swung around the city like a rag doll. She hated swinging anyway. Didn't like the stomach-dropping feeling that comes with moving so fast.
Day 1
MJ laid back on the OB table with nothing but a paper cloth covering her hips. Her butt was completely exposed, and although she was happy to be there for the ultrasound, she couldn't wait to put some clothes back on.
The nurse came in with a pep in her step, talking a million miles a minute about God knows what. Her bleach blond hair bounced in rhythm with her rapid fire questions. MJ couldn't focus. Peter was waiting for her in the car. He wasn't allowed in until the ultrasound was about to start—stupid Covid protocols. The only reason he was allowed in at all was because they wanted to do bloodwork on the father. Of course, Peter planned to freak out over needles and then refuse the procedure. He couldn't have anyone knowing about the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man or having access to his blood. Not again.
Finally, the nurse was ready to begin. She called Peter inside, and soon enough, the ultrasound started. The woman mentioned something about inserting the wand in her hooha and felt something cold and smooth make its way inside between her legs.
She heard nothing. Nothing but static from the fuzzy gray monitor. The nurse looked carefully with her bright green eyes displaying concern. She continued to move the wand around, looking for a better angle of a baby that would never be found.
"It's probably just me. I'm going to get the doctor to see if she can get a better angle," The nurse stated with a smile so fake MJ already knew what this meant. She muttered something about how she wasn't an expert in giving ultrasounds, even though she just mentioned how she does ultrasounds all day, every day.
That made her an expert in MJ's book. She was just getting the doctor to confirm her theory. A doctor needed to be the one to confirm pregnancy loss.
MJ just knew.
No sound of a heartbeat like before. No image. She stopped feeling nauseous suddenly two days ago. Her baby was gone.
Dr. Bashir came in and went through the whole pointless procedure just to confirm her suspicions.
"I'm very sorry for your loss, Mr. and Mrs. Parker," The doctor apologized empathetically right before the sound of gloves smacking off her hands echoed in the room, overpowering the mild humming of the radio playing from the ceiling. Peter winced.
The doctor talked to them about getting a D&C, a Dilation and curettage that removed tissue from the uterine lining—since MJ's body hadn't recognized the loss. Her body still thought she was pregnant. So did she, up until this appointment.
They asked questions and kept their cool for the time being so that they could make educated decisions.
"For the D&C, you'll need to set up an appointment with our surgical center. You'll want to schedule that as soon as possible to avoid infection...." The woman continued on, but MJ and Peter were in a haze of realization that they were no longer expecting.
Peter climbed out of the car and hurried over to MJ as soon as Happy pulled up to the building entrance.
"MJ."
That was all Peter could get out. She didn't look like herself. Her eyes were hollow, Shoulders slouched. She barely made any eye contact. He scooped her up and felt his heart sink as he noticed her head roll into his neck like a puppet without strings. He managed to get her in the car just fine and buckled her in. She stayed nestled in the crook of his neck and began to sob.
Peter held her close. He looked at Happy and looked away. He held his breath as he tried to soothe his wife. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he just couldn't help it. He hated seeing her like this. Hated feeling like this. Hated what had happened to them. To her. His wife. He let go and dropped the facade (if it looked like he was keeping it together) and let himself cry with her.
MJ grabbed his arm and squeezed as she melted into his chest. Peter rested his cheek on her head and slowly rocked her until she cried herself to sleep from hysteria, drugs, and pure exhaustion.
They arrived at the tower soon after. Tony had their bedroom made up and clean. They had their own apartment, but Peter convinced his wife that it would be a good idea not to isolate themselves too much.
Peter carried MJ into the elevator, Happy right on his heels. The doors pinged open, and to his surprise, he wasn't bombarded by the team. It was just Tony and Pepper. Morgan was at school. Peter nodded contently, thanking them for respecting their need to be alone.
Tony said nothing. He gestured for Peter to carry MJ down the hall. Tony opened the door for him and pulled the covers off so Peter could lay her down. Tony approached the door and held the knob when he noticed Peter climb into bed with her. Peter pulled the covers over them and snuggled into a comfortable position. He looked over at Tony and nodded.
Tony was about to close the door but decided against it. He walked back over to Peter, brushed his hair back, and kissed his head. With that, Peter lost it. He cried in silence as he held his sleeping wife in his arms. Tony sat on the bed and continued to brush Peter's hair back in a calming rhythm. He remained silent. Eventually, the sobbing subsided, and Peter, too, fell asleep.
Tony left the room and gave them one last glance before he closed the door softly behind him.