all the days after.

The next morning I woke up to spotting.  Already.

My nurse said in her awful voicemail message that my period would start within five days.  Then I was to call the office to schedule my consultation, and they'd get me back on birth control.

But I truly wasn't expecting for my body to physically expel everything I had built within mere hours of finding out the worst news.  I wasn't ready for it.

And it made me angry.

I had to go about my day.  I woke up early and drove to this high school to observe this teacher.  I acted normal.  I almost had forgotten what happened.

On my long drive home, I started to cry.  I started to feel pissed off.  I started to wonder what the fuck was going on.

But this wast the easiest day, and I don't know why.  Finding out was the simple part.  It was everything that came next that sent me over the edge.

On Saturday, I began bleeding heavily.  J found me in the bathroom crying hysterically.  I was naked from a shower, and my emotions were out of control.  I couldn't even dry off without blood running down my thighs, and I couldn't help but notice how cruel it felt.  How mean and awful it was that my body did this to me -- so boldly presenting my failure.

A couple of days later I called to schedule my consultation, but what do you know -- they can't get me in for more than a month.  They're all booked.

This offended me because I knew if I had gotten pregnant, they would have time for me.  But I didn't.  I failed, and so I would have to wait again.  My importance was expired, just like my hope and possibility.  They made the appointment for March 4th.

The next several days were hard.  It's still so unexpectedly hard.  In fact, I'm not even two weeks out yet.  But it feels like weeks and weeks -- months and months, even.  Not that I'm healed, but that time has been creeping by.  And I hate it, and I feel defeated.