subject line: a turn of events.


worcester, massachusetts

“The strip turned pink.” Yes, I needed to look again. It was still there, I couldn’t make it change. The strip, did indeed, turn pink. But this can’t be possible. I could barely move. I had been protected. Modern medicine promised me I wouldn’t be in this situation. “The strip turned pink.” My breath was shallow. From downstairs my baby cried. I moved like a zombie down the stairs. Waking into our living room filled with hand-me down toys and old couches, I admired his precious little 11 month old face. “I don’t want to do this again yet. I’m not ready yet. I want more time with my baby alone. This wasn’t the plan.” But it is the plan.