Driven by instinct, I dialed 911.
What's next after calling for help? Preserve the scene, and save the evidence.
Trembling, I snapped photos of the blood on the wall and my injuries, lifting my clothes to document the bruises.
My leg throbbed to the bone as if broken, the sharp pain overshadowing all else.
Lying on the floor all night in the heat, I felt nauseous, my stomach in knots, fearing critters might have scurried over me.
Stop, that thought alone made me want to throw up.
I propped myself up against the toilet, clutching my roiling stomach, desperate to use it but I couldn't.
I feared it'd clear the fingerprints on it.
I endured until the police arrived.
Thankfully, a female officer was there. I clung to her, pleading to use a public restroom.
I passed out again.
The officer who helped me to the hospital said I fell due to standing up too quickly.
The hospital staff noticed my condition and fought to save my unborn child.
I managed a weak smile.
This was the same hospital where my infertility journey began.
Without their reminder, I had almost forgotten about my pregnancy.
Another doctor came in, handed some documents to the officer, and asked me a few questions.