“I’m very sorry,” the doctor said.
I blinked hard, feeling as if an apple were stuck in my throat. I looked at Kenny, whose face was also crinkling into sorrow, and I began to shake all over with tears spilling down my face. I just kept thinking how much I felt sorry for him. He had to endure such pain because I couldn’t sustain a child.
“I’ll give you two some time.” The doctor and nurses handed us some tissues and towels before they left the room. Kenny took my hand, and we both leaned on each other, sobbing.
I had heard how others had been given terrible diagnoses before, but I felt like a puppet or an actress in a movie. I kept waiting for the director to say “cut” so that I could keep going with my happiness. But no, not for me. I had to be told at only 18 weeks into my pregnancy that my child would not live.
Kenny and I spent several hours there that day. By the time the doctors were done studying my daughter on their machines, it was 4 o’ clock. I couldn’t bring myself to go back to work. We went home with empty hearts and silence. I will never forget that day.
by Sarah George