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Pro-Tip for Postpartum Lies and Other Lies Too

This morning I made a phone call to my fertility clinic, and I was immediately put on hold. A familiar and painful music played across the speaker. I knew that music—a cheerful, repetitive chime. The last time I heard that music, I was sitting on a toilet, nauseated and crying, while fist-size blood clots defied all my efforts and slipped into the water below. They were just the beginning.  While the familiar tune played, my mind rushed back to that moment of gagging, horrifying pain. And I remembered that I had loved a baby that died. I teared up for a little bit while the music played, and then quickly answered the receptionist as she finally took my call.  When I hung up, a familiar feeling came back. It didn't really have words to it. It was just an inviting but godless feeling. If it had been a thought, it would have said something like this: I deserve to be sad. Now, you might think, but you do deserve to be sad. You were reminded of a genuine sorrow. Naturally, I

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