Cam McGlynn

Oven Timer

“Let me get the doctor.” Never a good phrase to hear mid-Ultrasound. The doctor looks at my scans, looks at my last scans, looks at my belly. “Placenta previa,” he tells me. “Don’t have sex, relax on the couch, and we’ll schedule you for a C-section.” I ask him if I can still work and describe my job: 8 hours on my feet in 80 degrees. His eyes widen. “No,” he says, “No, no! Standing can induce labor. Heat can induce labor. If you go into labor, you will bleed out and die. Your baby too.” It must be hard for doctors to balance how much information to give. Too much and the patient panics. Not enough and they disregard the danger. I decide not to mention the blisters on my feet from dancing at my friend’s wedding two nights before. “If you see any blood, even a drop, you need to go straight to the ER. How far away do you live? Fifteen minutes? You can hemorrhage to death in ten.” A week later, when I begin to bleed, I start counting the seconds.

syrup dribbles
off my pancake—
blood-stained napkin

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About the Author

Cam McGlynn is a writer and scientific researcher living outside Frederick, Maryland. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Wildscape, tiny wren lit, Neologism Poetry Journal, The Shore, and ONE ART, among others. 

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