Last week's "American Horror Story" was quite intense. And not just because of the crazy "Evil Dead" chainsaw homage (BTW, spoilers ahoy!). There was a scene where the divine Jessica Lange was high as a kite on prescription drugs in a hospital (who hasn't been there, amirite?). She wanders the halls and eventually enters a room where a woman has just given birth.
The woman is curled up and crying, and a baby lays motionless in a bassinet nearby. My stomach dropped and my heart skipped a beat. "Was it stillborn or did it die after?" asks Jessica. "Stillborn. What is it? They didn't even tell me." "She's a girl," whispers Jessica. She picks the baby up, and hands it to the mother. She tells her to tell the baby that she loves her, and that she's beautiful, and that she'll never stop loving her. And then she touches the baby on the head and walks away. The baby takes a breath and starts to cry (oh, if you don't watch the show, Jessica Lange is a super powerful witch). And my head explodes and I feel like Ryan Murphy is trying to make me insane.
What I wouldn't have given for someone to save Emma like that - to save me. That scene was gut-wrenching for me. Shocking because stillbirth is so rarely mentioned on television. Touching because a lot of the things that the woman said to her daughter were things that I said to Emma. Heartbreaking because I know that it's fiction and fantasy and there's not a chance that ever could have happened to me. Even as I gave birth and hoped against everything I knew that she would cry and breathe and it would be a miracle. But there was no miracle to be had that day. Maybe Jeff and I getting up every day and going on with our lives and trying to heal are the miracles?
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