The pregnant doctor at work today. I work with her, I like her a lot. I worked with her Tuesday and yesterday without a problem. Then someone else started talking about how great it was that she climbs while pregnant, and had this harness made that fit her belly… and suddenly it hit me so hard. I’m NOT pregnant anymore. My baby is dead. My pregnancy is dead. My joy and happiness and everything else she has, I no longer do. It’s dead. Her heart is still beating happily, and mine is torn to shred, a bloody, murdered mess.
I ended up standing in the coffee room, facing the wall, wiping tears off my cheeks. I came out of the restroom only to come face-to-face with a display where nurses/staff put photos of their newborn announcements. My baby’s photo will never be there. Avalon’s photo should’ve been there this spring and it won’t be. I walk away with a bitter taste in my mouth, and I can’t help thinking about how much I hate all of them for having what I was supposed to.
Today is a fragile day.