Friday, September 02, 2011


This time 2 years ago the nurse had by now called in the midwife to try find the elusive heartbeat. The midwife thought she'd heard something maybe but couldn't be sure. I was so so thirsty.
My throat was dry. They wouldn't give me water in case I needed to have an emergency Caesar.

They called in the OBGYN. She put on the ultrasound. She was unequivocal (perhaps mercifully so) but in that annoying doctor tone "this is where we would expect to see movement over here. There is none".

Stef was pacing like a caged tiger, calling people. I was stuck on the bed. In shock. What did this mean? How could this happen to us? Competing with "of course this was inevitable. Who did I think I was trying to have it all."

I really do hate the 2nd of September. It marks the loss of innocence. The loss of blind faith. The loss of childhood even - and I mean my own. It's not the day Sophia died and it's not the day Sophia was born, but it is the day my world ended.