The D&C procedure was standard; I would be in and out in one day. But the heartache continued long after. I was just 24. I seemed to have it all: a wonderful husband, a beautiful home and a great job. In reality, I felt like I had nothing, because my baby’s heartbeat would never come. Four months later when miscarriage number five rolled around, I was numb. I had already fallen apart at the seams. I quit my job, convinced myself my husband did not find me worthy, and I hit rock bottom. As a Latina married to a Latino man who one day wanted to have children, I was failing him. I secretly hated other women who could have babies, and I hated myself even more.
