I never envisioned spending the first day of Easter weekend in the ER, my body racked with flu-like symptoms brought on by a miscarriage in process.
But here I was.
My husband Ted and I sat in a small waiting room, surrounded not by our three young daughters, but by strangers. All with urgent aliments of their own.
Nothing felt especially good about this Friday. Although I suppose that first Good Friday didn’t seem that great at the time either. It too was one of loss.
Seven hours, an ultrasound, countless nurses, and a doctor later, I entered the...