I would have given anything for Luke's birthday not to be the next day, but we had special plans that I could not ruin for him. So I stuck a gigantic hospital pad to my underwear and once again put on the happy face. But over the next couple of days, I found I had no more happy faces left. My hormones had become my enemy. No matter how hard I tried, I could not stop crying. With each well-meaning phone call from the people in my life, I sank further into depression.
"Everything happens for a reason," most people said to me. And what reason is that?
"It's probably a blessing," I heard from others. Funny, it doesn't feel like one.
Then there were the more creative comments. "At least now you can drink." "At least you won't be fat in a bathing suit this summer." "Think about how much more money you'll have to shop."
I could feel the unspoken expectation that I should "get over it." I was alone.