It& #39;s clear to me from the number of news headlines, well-intentioned tweets and IG comments, etc, referring to "miscarriage" that the pictures Chrissy Teigen posted couldn& #39;t have been more important for us as a public to see. It turns out we don& #39;t even know what we& #39;re looking at.
Swipe and there& #39;s a story, one you& #39;ll recognize if you& #39;ve given birth in an American hospital, especially, or been with someone who has.
When I had my daughter at Mt Sinai, they gave me those same tic-tac grip socks. I remember the sheet of plastic they spread over my back for the epidural, and I remember wondering why (I have no idea still). In these photos, in other words, they& #39;re prepping a woman to give birth.
My birth story ended with life. I have the receiving blanket tucked into a drawer. I have the wrist band, snipped and saved. I have the little hat with a dash of blood dried on it. (I have the kid, running through my house.)
CT& #39;s photos show these trappings of labor—the socks, the IV, the blanket—evoking a physiological memory for me, and a cultural familiarity at large, but with an outcome so devastating, we don& #39;t even recognize it. We call it by a wrong name.