Each morning that I have to get up and go to that place I feel miserable. Once I'm there I try to tuck my misery into a corner of myself and just exist. This can't be right.
Today was bad. I cried before I went there and whispered to Ray, "I hate it". "I know." he said. But I've resolved to give myself some more time so I went. Once there a volunteer who hadn't been around for a long time said, "where's your baby?"
"He died and I lost him."
The poor girl looked so shocked and I don't blame her, she'd let loose the tears that I'd choked down earlier. When I was calm I did tell her to please not feel bad, that she didn't make anything worse and she didn't upset me because I'm already so upset. Boss's remedy? Go and have a cup of tea.
And my infection is back. It was hiding behind my period. Sneaky bastard.
I would have been 33 weeks pregnant today.