The following was written minutes after I was told that I had lost my third pregnancy. I was on the way to pick up my youngest child from preschool and I had to regain my composure before I got there. I was hyperventilating and crying so hard that I thought I would die. My world was crashing down around me. My husband was an hour-and-a-half away in another state and I was completely alone. The only way I could survive the initial devastation was to write down my feelings in the notes section of my iPhone — and cry harder and more animalistically than I had ever done before.
Cry~ I want to scream but I can’t. I can barely think. All I can do is cry.
This unexpected blessing that shocked me when I first saw the two lines, this baby that I didn’t deserve is now gone.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I can do is cry.
I went in this morning because I was spotting; no cramps, no heavy bleeding; nothing. I expected everything to be ok. It wasn’t. It isn’t. I don’t know if it ever will be again.
I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. All I can do is cry.
We had only told a very few people, not even our little girls who have been begging for a baby brother or sister.
I’m always afraid. Always afraid that I’ll say something too soon and something bad will happen. My sister lost a baby at 9 weeks. I am 10 weeks and 4 days, I thought I was safe. I wasn’t. The ultrasound showed 9 weeks and 2 days. That’s when our baby died.