For those of you who are well-versed in my musical taste, you’re well aware that I generally despise Coldplay. I find Chris Martin to be unbearable and their music to be unoriginally maudlin. I’ll allow “Fix You” to be the exception.
Unfortunately, I’m no longer pregnant.
I went in early on Thursday, anxiously awaiting what I already knew. Armed with my printout of questions and comments, I sat patiently as my blood was drawn. I gave M my list and she told me she would call me in a couple hours. I waited. And waited. And waited. Then, I followed up. Shortly after, I received the call. Unfortunately, you were right. It was negative. The words echo like a bad dream replaying over and over.
She then went on to explain the delay was due to discussing all my questions.
What’s the worst part about getting this news alone, at work? You have to call your husband, on your anniversary, and let him know that yet again, my body has failed him and us. Our babies are no longer and we’re nowhere further from where we started.