The doctor pressed her fingertips beneath my navel then stood back.
“How far along did you say you are?” the doctor asked, a furrow of doubt creasing her brow as she glanced into a manila folder.
“12 weeks. I’m sure of it.” I responded with confidence.
I was sure because that spring I had seriously been shirking my “wifely duties,” and I don’t mean
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It was awful at the time, but I kept reminding myself that 1. I was so lucky to already have a healthy baby. Even if I never had another, I had her and 2. There was a reason the baby hadn't lived and if the physical problems were already so terrible at three months, it was probably a blessing for the child to not make it.
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So sorry for how it turned out, and for uour losss.
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I would have found another doctor. My god, what an ass! I used a midwife for my daughter and a midwife for my son, after the baby in this story. Not that mine handled the situation badly, I just always felt midwives were there for me not their own ego.
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I knew it was coming just like you did, but I can only imagine the amount of panic no heartbeat can cause. I had a rough pregnancy, and that 30 seconds before they would find my son's was always the worst. Because what if they didn't?
I'm so sorry that it happened with you.
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all the love.
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