last comic standing

On December 15, 2005 stage lights were upon me in a dank Manhattan theater as I performed, before a live audience, for HBO’s US Comedy Arts Festival.  Weeks before, I committed to reading a passage from my memoir, Straight Up And Dirty. “Anything funny,” a producer from the show had said.  I read a bit about knowing the men I dated played the field, so mine might as well be mowed.  Hence, the Brazilian wax.  But in the light of the stage, between paragraphs, I began to shake, looked up, and lost my place.  I couldn’t find funny.  “Sorry,” I said.

That’s the bit that didn’t make it into the article I wrote recently for the UK’s Grazia Magazine (see photos there).  Below is what was published.  But here’s what was left out: I was actually set to perform in front of actual people the day I was told that I’d miscarried.  I had to be funny and professional.  I had to be "on," even though everything felt "off."  "It’s one of life’s great ironies," my father had said earlier that day.  I don’t know how I got through it, besides barely.  Here’s the telling of it:

It was during a routine check-up last December that my life fell apart.  There I was, legs up in stirrups, my gynecologist asking me to keep still as we watched an ultrasound monitor, looking for a blinking dot.  I held my breath as we waited, and waited.  There was no heartbeat, just a yolk sac and placenta.  But I had to be pregnant: my breasts were swollen and sore to even the slightest touch of fabric.  “That’s from the placenta,” the doctor explained, “but that tenderness will dissipate soon.”  I was nine weeks pregnant until that moment.  “Blighted ovum,” he said.  My fiancé Philip squeezed my hand, and I could see, even in the dark room, his eyes were tearing.  I couldn’t cry.

As I dressed, the doctor said, “You’ll need a D&C tomorrow: dilation and curettage.”  I nodded blankly.  He scribbled on a pad then slipped me the address of a clinic.  My heart stopped as I read it.  “Not again,” was all I could think.  Because I’d been to that same clinic three years ago, but that time it was for an abortion. 

See, once upon a very different life in 2002, my then-husband, Gabe, and I decided we wanted to start a family.  Married for two years, I was working at an advertising agency in Manhattan while my husband was finishing his medical residency.  But, after months of trying, nothing happened.  So sex became scheduled.  Afternoon delight became a specialty.  We laughed.  A lot.  And then a burgundy drop swirled in the toilet water beneath me, and I cried.  A lot.  I’d spent my whole life having protected sex, terrified of getting pregnant, and now, even with fertility drugs, I was failing at the most fundamental human function: procreation.  Every month, the little window in the plastic pregnancy tester mocked me.  But one day, a miracle: two pink lines appeared.  Gabe pulled me close and smiled.  Soon he’d be a father; there’d be a child with his face.  I had everything I’d ever wanted.  But just days later I discovered my 28-year-old husband was seeing another woman, with her own grown children.  When I confronted him, he admitted, “I just don’t love you enough to have a child.”  I was heartbroken.  I couldn’t sleep or eat; I had to remind myself to breathe.  My life hurt, and I couldn’t imagine bringing another one into it.  Plus, I wanted a family with Gabe, not just a baby.  That’s when I heard about this clinic.  Other people would have kept the baby, especially after all I’d gone through to get pregnant, but I made my decision based on what I knew was right for me.  I don’t regret it, but it’s still hard to remember. 

I was less than 12 weeks pregnant when I joined a narrow hallway where other women in pink paper gowns stood, biting fingernails.  My dad came with me, and as I lay back, I wondered what he was doing in the waiting room.  Was he reading Newsweek or pamphlets on how to support someone after an abortion?  Did he start to read it and set it down because it was too upsetting to think of his little girl, strapped to a table, a life she wanted being removed?’  Thinking about him was easier than thinking about myself.

And now, three years later, I had to go back.  I was finally in a loving relationship where we both wanted this and we were being told, “no.”  Why was this happening?  Had my abortion anything to do with this?  Was I being punished?  The doctor told me not to blame myself, that there was no evidence the abortion had anything to do with the miscarriage.  But I felt responsible.  “It’s actually a good sign,” the doctor told me.  “At least you know you can get pregnant.”  But I didn’t want to look on the bright side.

At home, Philip and I cried in each other’s arms.  I was terrified of returning to the clinic, the straps on my thighs, being tied to a table like an animal.  I worried I wouldn’t wake up after they put me under.  What was a blighted ovum?  Maybe it was my fault.

I tried to think positively: I was lucky this happened early, before I got too attached, began to show, or told the world.  But I was attached.  We’d taken a photo of the positive test.  Philip had fussed if I was too hot or cold or tired, spoken to my belly at night.  I was terrified of being happy.  Because when you’re happy, it can be taken from you.  That’s the hardest part about loving; the fear of loss.  And now that we’d lost, I feared Philip would love me less. 

They say you shouldn’t share your pregnancy news too early in case things go wrong.  So you keep it a secret and hope no one notices you just ordered a club soda.  “Oh, I’m on a diet,” you say when they do.  What a crap rule.  Because when something does go wrong, you need people.  And then you have to tell them you were pregnant, but before their faces light up, you have to set them straight.  I dreaded those conversations, but then something strange happened.  Friends would talk about miscarriage with the word “too.”   “That happened to a friend of mine, too, and she got pregnant the next month.”  “Yeah, I had one, too, well, three actually, and an ectopic that nearly killed me before I had Hannah.”  It felt like a secret club, a black market of hidden pain.  I’d probably broken bread with these women, spoken of designer sales, unaware they’d gone through it.  “Well,” some friends added, “at least you can have fun trying again.”  But I didn’t want to be cheered up; I wanted to be sad.

And so, last Christmas, while the rest of the city was giddy with holiday spirit, I walked into the clinic for the second time.  I was terrified that all this would take its toll on my body, that I would never be able to have children.  But, this time, it was different.  This time, the father of the pregnancy was beside me, holding me.  The nurse ushered us to a private room, with a coffee table and house plant.  No room filled with girls waiting for abortions.  It made me think last time I was being punished. I have no way of knowing if this is true, but it felt true.    My doctor came in and reassured me the procedure would only take five minutes.

Philip and I shared a tender moment in whispers and trembles.  Then I slid away, along the slippery corridor in my paper slippers.  I was taken to the same room, with the wooden butterfly hanging overhead.  The anesthesiologist assured me she’d be beside me the whole time.  She asked me about my last vacation, told me to envision my time in Paris.  I heard my doctor say, “I’ll be taking the specimen with me.”  Suddenly, the whole thing seemed real.

When I awoke I was in a recovery room, cramping on a gurney. A moan I didn’t recognize as my own escaped, and when I opened my eyes again, a nurse was beside me with a paper cup and Tylenol.  After a few minutes, I was ushered to a leather reclining chair, beside five other girls, covered in airline blankets, sipping tea, trying to recover.  One of them was wearing a wedding ring, wiping the tears from her face.  She began to choke a bit on her sobs.  I wondered how many of them were recovering from abortions.  Or were there others there, this time, like me?  I didn’t cry.  Mostly because I knew Phil was in the next room.  I knew I had a future and that it would involve children “when the time is right.”  I could still hear that little voice inside me.

That night I bled for the first time in months.  I thought of meat.  It reminded me I was an animal.  I cried in bed, fearing, as irrational as it was at the time, that Philip wouldn’t want me as much because I was sad, because all I wanted to do is lie in bed and cry and watch chick flicks and wonder why.  But I already knew the “why me?” isn’t what defines us.  It’s the: okay this sucks, it does, so fucking cry.  Cry snot and let your dog lick it and rest on you like you have in the past.  Ask for help.  You’re not the only one going through this.  Phil is going through it too, and he’ll help.  You will respond to this event, one way or another, and the bravery and strength in which you respond is what defines you. In all that horrible, there is still hope.  It’s okay to be scared of trying again, of filling out more forms explaining your past.  It’s paper.  You’re surrounded by life, and this is yours.  Respond to it.

After my follow-up visit, I was told there was nothing to stop us from trying again.  Philip worried.  “What if you miscarry again?  Wouldn’t it be better on your body if we waited?”  It was hard on him, watching me cry all the time.  Of course I was terrified, but more so at the thought I’d never be a mother.  I wouldn’t hurt any less if I miscarried next week or next year.  Whenever it happens it’s painful, and the hurt is as heavy as a brick.  “I’m ready,” I said, to which he responded, “I just needed to hear it.”  And so, I’m happy to report that I’m nine weeks pregnant [with twins!], with fingers crossed.



  1. Wow this really really touched me Stephanie. I loved the way you framed this story and truly expressed everything in terms of coming out with the news of pregnancy, the pain, the hurt, the love of your man, all of it. I really was moved.
    After reading the book, I thought 'Gabe' was just a name you chose instead of your true ex-husband's name, I assume to protect identities as memoirists do. But his name really is Gabe?
    I am so happy for you. Enjoy this peaceful truth that is out there.

  2. I've been in that horrible recovery room and I think we all have that fear as we get older that the things we did in our twenties will bite us in the ass… I haven't started "trying" yet so I have no idea if it did – but I know how it feels to wonder is God punishing me…I think everyone can relate to that – but I don't regret anything I did – it made me everything I am right now – sounds corny as hell but it's so true.

  3. When I met my husband 15 years ago I got pregnant within the first week we started sleeping together. He proposed on the spot, but my educated upstanding upbringing was filled with mortification. I knew we were in no way ready to start that kind of committed relationship. About 6 weeks along, while I was frantically considering options, I got a killer bladder infection. The Dr told me that the meds for the infection would be disasterous for the fetus. I know that he told me in a way that was designed to allow me to be very selective about the viability of the pregancy, a kind of affluent woman's guilt-free abortion.

    I took the meds and had a miscarriage the next day in the bathroom of an Italian restaurant, by myself, shaking, not able to get up and summon my boyfriend to be in the bathroom with me. It was quick enough, and when he finally found me and learned what had happened, he made excuses that I was ill and we left for the hospital. No one but you and he and I know about this event.

    Fast forward 15 years. We are now married and have three incredibly beautiful children, homes both here and overseas and the kind of a fairy tale ending that unmarried, impressionable, romantic girls should not be allowed to hear. But there isn't a week when I don't look at my kids and think about the earlier one and what he or she would have been like. I made the right decision for that time, and I have little regret, but the process of motherhood will make even a right decision one that you look at with a little bit of regret later on. Be careful not to fill up with the "what ifs".

    As a parent I know now that if I were ever to get pregnant again (and I am now in my early 40s) I would not be able to make that same choice, even if the baby was handicapped. And I know that this has colored the memories I have of that decision 15 years ago, especially in light of the way my relationship with my husband turned out. Stand fast to the realization that it was the right choice for the circumstance. Do not allow your mothering psyche to tell you otherwise.

  4. I've been lurking for months…ever since a friend passed a NYT article about your blog on to me. I've never once commented (though I do read every post), but this was so touching. I ordered your book yesterday, and am now looking even more forward to reading it. Your writing is real, and touching. And though I am a bit older, your words reach back to my memories — the sad ones and the happy ones.

  5. Thanks for this, Stephanie. On Monday I had a voluntary d & c and I am desparate for stories from other women. Especially from those that had a hard decision to make. I don't regret it, either, but I'm very, very sad. This helped.

  6. Your writing conveys emotions beautifully. I never wanted children, still don't. I adore my niece and nephew; would die for them, but don't want kids of my own. 11 years ago I started bleeding funny and I went to a clinic, it was Halloween. Doctor told me I was having a miscarriage, but I didn't know I was pregnant……I was far away from my family and not real sure who the father might be….the loneliness was suffocating. No one but you and I and the doctor knows of this. I paused for a brief second that Halloween, sitting there on the thin paper barely shielding me from the arctic plastic and wondered what I would have done if I would have found out I was pregnant a different way……I don’t think about it often; I know my body made the right decision. But every Halloween, I think of that scared girl barely breathing, confused and alone and I rub my belly absent-mindedly taking comfort in my life as it is now.
    Five years ago we found out my brother and his wife are both carriers of a genetic deviation that results in a 25% chance of their children being born with a terminal illness. We lost my nephew at eight and half months old that year. The grief I felt in that loss was debilitating. And now knowing how hard they have to try and what they have to struggle with to even get pregnant – I feel such guilt at what I so carelessly rejoiced at many years ago. Would they hate me for my choices? Would they hate me for knowing that I was terrified but also relieved when the doctor told me I was having a miscarriage? They’ve since had another baby…….I wept with joy when I found out the baby was to be healthy and she’s a strapping 16 months old now…and my love for her knows no bounds. Some people are meant to be parents and those babies find a way to them. My brother is meant to be a father and hopefully will be again within the next twelve months (fingers crossed). Reading your blog and coming to “know” you that way – Stephanie, you are meant to be a mother and I cried tears of boundless joy when I read you were pregnant with twins. I don’t believe we’re punished for what we’ve done in the past. I know I’ve felt that way sometimes, but I shake it off and realize that I’m human and I alone have to make the best decision for myself. And I deal with said decisions whatever way works completely ignorant of anyone’s opinion of how I’m supposed to handle the pain, joy, sadness that comes with life.

  7. Four year and eight months ago, I went in to see a doctor after learning I was pregnant. He told me I had a blighted ovum and would need a D and C. I went in the next day for the procedure with my husband. We had been married for two years then, but he was in the service then and was gone more than half that time. We had no idea how to comfort each other and I had doubts about the marriage lasting (the stats for military marriages are not good even without such a loss) A different doctor that day did what he said was a routine second check with a sonogram. I don't know if it WAS routine or not, but he found a heartbeat. A perfectly healthy one, just minutes before I was scheduled to have the D & C. My boy is four now and I've been married 6 happy years. Happy endings do happen and I wish you a safe pregnancy and healthy twins.

  8. Sigh. Sorry you had to go through that. I never had to, myself, but I fiercely defend anyone's right to make that life-altering decision.

    Sooooo glad the time is right for you now. And again, thanks for sharing. It was an incredibly moving post.

  9. Stephanie, I too lost a pregnancy at nine weeks and had to have a D&C. Then shortly after, I had a miscarriage at 5 weeks. Thank you for so eloquently putting into words what it feels like to go through this. It's hard for other people to understand how attached you can get in such a short time.

    I'm so glad you are now pregnant (and healthy)with twins. As I start trying again, it gives me hope.

  10. Stephanie – your post made me speechless. The way you described the room was everything I remember about that room. You're lucky you had a caring guy sitting next to you, I wasn't so lucky. He was more concerned about the work he brought with him to complete for work the next day.
    So excited for you. I look forward to the day I get pregnant again with a guy I know will stick by me.

  11. I am so very happy that you are 9 weeks pregnant. It's nice to see someone end up on the other side of trying to actually doing… I know it's early, take joy in the time so far, announce it let others know. I look forward to the day I can say "I'm pregnant." It's okay to dip your feet into the water and relax a bit.

  12. Came to your site through and I can't stop reading! I'm conflicted- should I continue reading here or click over to Amazon and buy the book?

  13. I feel like I should say something, although, I have no idea what. I'm glad things worked out. I'm glad you're happy again.

  14. I was so anxious to read your book yesterday, but knew I had to wait because my account balance says zero. However, when I got home from work, my girlfriend showed up with it in hand, and a card. :) I haven't been able to put it down since. Its fantastic. Ironically enough, I'm just starting the chapter about the abortion. I am so sad for all you've been through, but am praying for you that you'll finally get those little blessings in your life. :) You deserve it. Thanks for opening up your life to us, your readers. I think there is something in this book that every woman can relate to, in one way or another.

  15. When I was sixteen, I was at a boarding school in MA and got pregnant. Luckily, MA had a law at the time that allowed me to terminate the pregnancy without having to get my parents' permission (I did have to meet with a judge who evaluated whether or not I was competent enough to make the decision). Ten years later, I have no regrets. I am, however, saddened by recent legislation that is making it more difficult for young women to do what they want when it comes to their bodies.

    Thank you for being so brave and sharing with us; and, congratulations on the baby(s? did someone say twins?).

  16. I had an ectopic and a miscarriage too. Your story is so touching, honest and sweet. Thank you for sharing your new pregnancy news, you're so right, it's better to tell right away, so you can have friends to go through the ups and downs of the pregnancy with you.
    Hubby and I are still trying and I cry my eyes out when I see red in the toilet. Been trying a couple of years and try not to obsess about the babies to be (or that could have been). It's a struggle! Usually news of other people's pregnancies really set me off, but your story was so sweet, I just had to say, Congratulations on your pregnancy, my prayers are with you (and the little one).

  17. i just cruised on to your blog and i think i'm in love!!!

    your writing style is amazingly real and i'll definately be coming back :) best of luck with the twins.. xx

  18. You have a gift for words that draws people in. I'm so sorry for your past pain but wish you all the best with your new blessings on the way.

  19. I corresponded with you a few months ago about our obsessions with trying, spotting, pregnancy tests and ovulation kits. I have since become pregnant (due in December) and have been thinking of you. My fingers have been crossed and I am thrilled to hear you will be the mother of two healthy babies. This post made me so sad because I am so connected to being pregnant and carrying a child. I am so sorry you went through that but wanted to congratulate you on the new babies. Feel good.

  20. Really great article. I just read through the others too. I particularly loved the one about couples therapy. I just learned something about myself and my childhood and how it affects me (probably should've been obvious, but wasn't). Thanks for sharing.

  21. I am absolutely 100 percent pro-choice, but deep down I am also absolutely 100 percent thankful that I never had to go down that road to make such a tremendous, life-altering decision. I've had three pregnancies that resulted in three beautiful children that I am so completely blessed to have.

    The only reason I never had to go through that life-altering decision is luck, pure luck. So many of my friends did not have it so easy.

  22. What a powerful entry! I can`t imagine all the pain and sadness you went through. I`m glad you`re talking about it because many woman choose not to.

  23. Hi Stephanie, Mazel Tov! I am really so happy for you. It's good to see you doing so well… The last time we saw each other was in high school actually- and after seing our reunion info and what was posted about you- hopped on your site today…and I'm so glad I did. We have a very similiar story…and so I am so moved by what you wrote I feel a closeness with you enough to write and share my joy (for you) and pain. I think we will always mourn- but as you so butifullly put it "the bravery and strength in which you respond is what defines you. In all that horrible, there is still hope"… Thank-you Stephanie. I needed that…I've never heard someone so acurately describe how I feel- what so many of us went through. Your words will give many soaice as they have to me. & ALL THE BEST ON YOUR WONDERFUL NEWS!

  24. I'm so buying your book when it comes out here (are there any European release schedules available?).
    I don't have that desire to start a family (yet?), and still your words grip me.

  25. Thank you so much for this post and congratulations!

    I had an abortion 7 years ago and although I know I made the right decision for myself at the time, it has been wearing on me ever since. It seems the more time that passes, the more it stays in my mind, if that makes any sense. I have been with my current boyfriend for 5 years but we have not had sex in 2 because it is so unenjoyable and scary for me. Mostly, I just think I feel guilty. Your post gives me hope that one day I will be able to return to being a "normal" person. Hopefully he doesn't leave me before that happens.

  26. Sorry for every thing you had to to go through.
    I had tears in my eyes, really.
    I know i have said this before, but you deserve every bit of happiness.

  27. Hi Stephanie,

    I have been reading your blog since I discovered the world of blogging , but never written a comment, however having read your entry today I felt you managed to capture beautifully my pain and every other woman who has either had to make a decision to have a abortion or face losing a child through miscarriage. I had a abortion in my early 20's and have never really felt I could speak about it to anyone whom could understand the loss or pain one goes through when taking this decision. I wish you all the best in your pregnacy and look forward to reading about your continues journey through it . Regards from UK

  28. Wow Stephanie, I bought your book yesterday and couldnt bring myself to read it yet, because Im in the midst of packing and my hands were dirty. I didnt want to smudge the cover. Isnt it amazing that so many of us find the smudges of your life so pristine?

    This was painful and wonderful.

  29. You have two great men in your life: your dad and fiance. I was touched by their support and love for you. You are truely blessed.

  30. As you were saying – I think it is more commen than we realise – to have problems getting pregnant, having miscarriage etc. I tried for 3 years with my guy to get pregnant and then found out he had sperm problems – but as I had also had an abortion I also thought I was the problem. Anyway, we had 3 IVFs and I got pregnant the 1st time but at 12 weeks found out the baby had Down's syndrome so decided on a termination. Gave up on the IVF and then got pregnant naturally. Wê have a wonderful son, but the chances of number 2 are pretty slim. So, lucky you for getting preggo with twins. I hope it all works out just fine.

  31. I can relate w/ 85% of this story, but could not put it so eloquently in my own words. Thank you for doing so. I think people need to hear our stories about miscarriage so that they can react in a more meaningful way when someone they know has to go through this awful process. I'm happy for your new pregnancy and hope all goes well!

  32. I have made that trip twice, within 3 months. I got pregnant at 18. I found out right after graduation. I knew my fiance and I were not financially or emotionally able to take care of a child. We were still children ourselves. I went to the clinic, was awake the entire time and didn't have any complications. It didn't even hurt. I remember those recliners and how weird I felt. I got up and walked out with no problem at all. 3 months later I ended up back there. This time around it hurt! I bled so much I thought I was dying. I had cramps I didn't have the first time. All I could do was cry. My emotions were going crazy. As I sat there all I told myself was I'm never putting myself through this again. And, knock on wood, I haven't had to. Every holiday, every mother's day I think about my decisions. Was it the right one? What would've happened if…? I play the "if" game. But I know in my heart that I did what was right for both children. Don't feel bad about your abortion. Things happen for a reason and now you're having twins with someone who loves you and will be by your side through it all. Congrats!

  33. Your eloquence and way with words is truly inspiring. To be able to share your fears, devastation and joys is a gift within itself. It is because you are so strong within, that you allow yourself to inspire others.

    Thank you for sharing your life with us. Your words bring more comfort than you may know to people. Thank you for comforting me and allowing me to realize that there are other women out there that have had similar experiences to those of mine.

  34. Hi Stephanie, Mazel Tov on the twins, that is wonderful news and it is so good to hear such eloquent and honest thoughts. I think it inspires people to think in a similar way about their own experiences, and this is so important. Thanks for your blog and I can't wait to read your book.

  35. I'm crying for what you've been through…for the happiness you feel today…for all those women who've been through this and worse without anyone to hold their hands and comfort them.

  36. Thanks so much for your honesty, Stephanie. I've never miscarried, but I had an abortion years ago. I'd talked about it many times with my best friend and one day she finally told me she'd had one when she was much younger. And another girlfriend told me she'd had one. And so on. I'd felt like I was the only one, and once it became clear how tentative my girlfriends were about talking about this, I felt so…betrayed or something. Not by them, but because we'd gone through that awful experience (not wholly by choice), and then had to suffer about it in silence. But I was so grateful they finally spoke up. Thank you, too.

    It's been hard for me at times to read about your pregnancy, because I realized at one point that that's about how far along I was when I had my abortion. And while you were happy about having an ultrasound recently, I was praying please, please, please to get my period. I was a day late, and I worry every single month that I could be pregnant, because I dread having to make that decision again.

    I can't exactly say I regret making it the first (and hopefully only) time. More than that, I regret getting pregnant in the first place. I regret *having* to make that decision. And part of me will always wonder what my baby would've been like, and will always grieve that I never got to hold her (or him) in my arms. But I also would like to believe that that little soul will come back to me someday, if it's meant to be. I'm also grateful that I was strong enough and loved myself enough to make that decision, odd though that may sound. I believe I did it out of love for myself, my desire to bring a baby into the world by choice, and a deep hope for my future. Those of you who are still suffering, or grieving your loss, please know I stand with you in spirit. (Jenny, dear, I've been in your shoes. Get counseling, if you can. It seems like a part of you feels you don't deserve to live a happy life because of what you've been through. But you do. And you're the only one who can claim it. Peace.)

  37. I've never been in a circumstance such as that, Stephanie, but I admire your strength; being able to write about it both here, and in your book.

    Walking in someone else's shoes can be a difficult thing to do, yet when you're faced with a sudden realization, you really have no choice. Learning everyday that people have stories to their lives is teaching me to be more gentle. A better understanding is the goal. Empathy is the path you take to get there.

    Everyday I uncover something else about someone I care about. It opens up a brand new area of their personalities, and only makes the bond I have with that person even stronger.

    Thank you for telling us your stories.

  38. I was touched when I read your story, and am even more so after reading the comments and noting how many other people you've touched, and spurred to share their own stories. I'm so happy for your…well, your happiness!

  39. This post spoke volumes.

    I have two boys, 4 and 1. My 1 year old was a twin but during pregnancy I found out that one of the babies had a terminal birth defect. I didn't miscarry but I was advised to terminate so the other baby could go full term. And I did.

    Not a day goes by when I don't think about it. I always wonder if the hurt will ever stop. Sometimes I cry myself to sleep thinking about what would have been.

    Nothing pisses me off more than the question, "are you going to try for the girl". It enrages me. I feel like answering that question with the truth – "ummm NO, I was pregnant with a girl that was a twin but she didn't survive."

    I respect your bravery, strength and honesty. You are going to make you a wonderful mother.

  40. I just had a D&C from a blighted ovum at 9 weeks last wednesday. I know the pain. I hope that one day My Fiance and I can be in the happy place you are now!

  41. Stephanie
    When i discovered i was pregnant,funnily enough i thought of you, i dont know you but feel i do thru your words. i have been reading your blog for quite some time now you are a beautiful writer and i wish you the father all the peace and happiness i have come to know since i've been carrying my Lila Grace i am due on 8/30. think of me wont you. with love jennifer

  42. Your Dad is good people. Loved that you dedicated the book to him… Will definitely be at the NYC reading, drunken hair bleaching incident or no..

  43. the month before i got pregnant with grace,9, my period was 3 days late. the next morning, i woke up a little dizzy, but didn't think anything of it. about an hour later, i started getting horrible cramps, i went to the toilet and just started gushing, and i grabbed the trash just in time to throw up in it. when i tried to get up, i passed out. i don't know how long i was out, not long i think. i'd never had a period like this, mine had always been the easy going kind. i talked to my mom later and she said the same thing had happened to her the month before she got pregnant with me. it was scary!
    jane is from the very determined sperm, i like to joke. we were at my grandparents in new mexico, i figured on the calendar that i wouldn't ovulate until friday, it was monday, so i said ok to my husband. i ovulated wednesday (i always know, i get the twinge), thursday morning i woke up nauseous. i think the sperm were hanging out and sending out search parties! they were susposed to be 3 years apart, but they're 2yrs 2 weeks.

  44. Your slam-dunk honesty gives me a time-out each time. This entry uprooted my anger at the fertility specialists who fast-forwarded me to reduction deductioners. The feelings never die even when the maybabies did. But your brutally, brilliant words move me to tears and laughter. Always. Especially for describing the groom's mother as a woman who looked like she had a one-night stand with a disco ball. Classic!

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