“I looked at Abby and I told her, ‘You know those bad headaches and the vomiting you keep having?’ Abby looked at me and said, ‘Yes mom, they hurt.’ I told her, ‘It’s because you have something growing in there that shouldn’t be there. We have to get it out.’”
“I remember saying to him that something must be brewing for us because our life had been too easy! The rest was a blur of grief and anger. I have a lifelong disease—one that will never be cured. One that was caused by IVF.”
“I’d never seen my husband speechless until that moment. I remember being terrified, but I assumed everything would end up okay. These sorts of terrible things happened to ‘other people,’ and surely not me.”
“The nurses started whispering I didn’t want to see my own daughter, that I was rejecting her. After hearing those comments, I got up. I touched her face. Sometimes it’s impossible to not be uncomfortable when people stare at us in the street, and see her as an alien. I dream they can see her like I do, as a beautiful little girl.”
“He was born the following morning, eyes still fused shut. His skin was translucent. It was the scariest thing I have ever seen. He was intubated right away. I refused. I knew he was strong, and I knew if they just gave him TIME he would get there, as he always had.”
“You do it for the people who don’t even live here. You do it to impress your visitors. You do it so no one will see your mess.”
“I watched him turn away and mention my son to his dad. That’s the first mistake we both made. We both chose to turn away.”
“I quietly sip my coffee and think to myself, ‘If I eat, I’m instantly going to feel fat.’ It’s a 2-hour struggle with fear and lies about my body before I realize I’m actually starving.”
“Memories flood my head so fast they start to overflow as tears run down my face.”
“Then I thought about the night my father left. He came home and told my mother he’d been having an affair, and that he was leaving. I remember it being church quiet. It was an eerie, weighty silence I didn’t understand then.”
