Posted Tuesday, August 25th, 2009
You haven't lived until you've miscarried at work.
Flush twice so they won't see
The hope that is draining out of you.
Last week I had a thrilling secret,
This week I catch the remains of one.
HSG, declining beta HCG and progesterone,
I am an infertility text book case
My dear family, I do know
That there are support groups,
But I actually prefer to bleed silently at my desk.
And to attend to my direct reports.
Once I thought April was the cruelest month...
August now holds a candle.
Comments [post a comment]
Posted by jocelyn johnson on Wednesday, August 26th, 2009 at 8:10 AM
Man, this hurts. Truly. This is an arresting poem, a poem I will think about all day. (And send good thoughts your way.)
Posted by Donna Levy [ firstname.lastname@example.org
] on Wednesday, August 26th, 2009 at 9:37 AM
Beautifully done. The few words say it all poignantly. Love, Donna
Posted by SALOME DAMON on Wednesday, December 2nd, 2009 at 2:52 AM
Here I can truly say I have been there (twice, too) and was saddened again by reading this poem.
To write brings scant relief, but out it must.