Right now, two years ago, I was sick.
I had seriously bad morning sickness from about 10 weeks onward of my pregnancy. Everything made me throw up. I couldn't tolerate the smell of raw meat. I was forcing myself to drink Carnation Instant Breakfast with peanut butter blended into it for extra protein because I was having such a hard time eating anything.
My feet were so swollen. I didn't know it but my eye sockets were swollen too.
I was dying. My body was killing me because I was trying to have a baby. Three babies to be exact. My three babies that I had wished for and prayed for my entire life. My three babies that were a miracle of modern science because there was no way I was going to conceive them without treatment.
My three babies that I would have gladly given my life for if it meant that they could live. Instead, they had to die so that I could live. How does a mother live with that? How does anyone live with that knowledge that someone had to die so that you could live? The babies had zero chance of survival without me. I knew that. I know that now.
But, oh, if it could have been different.