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September 10, 2005



On September 11th, I was at my therapist's office having my weekly session and trying to come to terms with my depression over my losses and fertility treatments. I was also waiting anxiously for the results from the blood test I had, to find out if we were going to be riding that incredibly nerve-wracking rollercoaster ride of pregnancy. Because of my appointment, I wasn't at my job at the State Department that morning, which was lucky...I would've been trapped down there for who knows how long. Watching the events unfold, my eyes puffy from all the crying I was doing, I remember thinking that I couldn't bother God with my prayers for myself right then. He was busy with other matters. I did get the call from my doctor's office the next day. Negative. I'm not sure if that was a good or bad thing; it would have been nice to have a bit of hope blooming in the womb in the midst of all that chaos.


I was in West Yellowstone, Montana --- I had just left my life in San Francisco, heading back home to Colorado. My uncle didn't have a TV, but the phone started ringing early in the morning, and we listened to NPR until the neighbor invited us over. In our pajamas, we were riveted to the TV all day. For the next three weeks, anytime we wanted the news, we headed to the local bar to watch the evening news and have a beer. I'm so glad I was away from the TV for those weeks - and was so glad I'd made the decision to leave the big city and head back to the mountains.

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