I really wished it wasn't true. One thing I always thought after I had Rory was that I would do it right next time. That plan was shot down the minute the test said pregnant exactly two months three weeks and five days after the drunken night.
The party in New York was only supposed to be a congratulatory thing. A go there and say thanks to a bunch of stuck up guys in boring suits for putting my inn on the cover of a magazine and leave. Then the evening would end up at Luke's drinking coffee and talking. But that is so not what happened.
Luke and I were at the party and were having a nice time. There was plenty of trays of food to keep us satisfied, but for some reason me and Luke just never took any of it. The drinks were more important what with the boring men in suits blabbing on and on about God knows what and the stuffy air of New York.
It really is a good thing that Luke and I had a driver to take us home or we would have crashed three minutes into the drive. We were so loopy we couldn't see straight. I told him I was going to thank him later on for being so nice the whole time and putting extra cherries in my Manhattan, which is exactly what I did. Maybe we were caught up in the heat of the moment or maybe we having to much fun to realize that we had no road blocks. Whatever the reason is I know that we should have been more careful.
The week I found out I made an appointment to make sure the test wasn't a false positive. It wasn't and I was kind of mad at first, but then I warmed up to the idea. The doctor went over all of the basics: no coffee, don't overwork, and definitely don't stress yourself out. He said I had to be extra careful because I was not as young as I should be to be carrying a child. I had to take a vitamin and take good care of myself. I told the doctor I would do everything in my power to keep myself and the baby healthy, in fact I promised.
At the time I didn't remember the most important thing: don't make promises you can't or don't intent to follow through on. I went on with my life. I told Luke and he was ecstatic. I figured he would be considering we were pretty close.
Sometimes being responsible for yourself and another person at the same time is too hard. The doctor said limited stress and I tried to do everything I could to keep the stress to a minimum. I only worked a few hours at the inn everyday and I left the stress of parents away. That wasn't hard though considering my parents were pissed about the whole thing. I dropped Friday night dinners which also wasn't hard to do considering Rory dropped out of Yale and she no longer speaks to me because I didn't support her decision.
I think the stress of the separation and the small amount of stress from the inn along with the troubles staying healthy caught up with me. Luke was there and he did everything he could to help me in my state, but I was emotionally distressed. I knew that the stress was bad and I knew that the coffee I snuck every now and then wasn't helping either. I started working longer to drown of the sorrow of losing my first born and my parents dinners. Sometimes I would work from 8 in the morning until 11 at night.
Luke tried to sit me down and talk to me about how I'm hurting my well-being, but I needed distractions and work was the only place I could do so. Luke took charge and brought me to his parents lake house, but I was in such a bad mood that he gave up and brought me home.
Now as I sit here on the hospital bed calling Luke to ask him to come see me I realize that I was such an idiot. I should have listened to the doctor and I should have listened to Luke. They wanted me and the baby to be safe so they set boundaries and I crossed them.
Luke is here now and he is confused about why I am sitting in a hospital room looking like I'm going to kill someone. I now have to explain to him that I lost our child because I was stupid and didn't listen to all the warnings. That I ran myself into the ground only to find that once you start digging you can only go so far before you hit the other side. The other side is so much worse than anyone could ever imagine.
Luke seems to have no emotion. That is until I see a tear in his eye which only makes me start bawling my eyes out. Luke takes me in his arms and says everything will be alright. I try to believe him on this point, but when he says that this was not my fault and I shouldn't blame myself I get angry. I'm yelling at him now telling him that he should leave me and he should find someone else that wouldn't kill his children. He stops me and says that I'm crazy for thinking this way and that we can make it through this. He says we could have another child, but what if I can't get pregnant anymore? What if it is too late?
For now I am going to let the subject rest so I can figure out what my jumbled brain is thinking. I know I am trying to forgive myself, but I'm not sure if that is ever going to happen. I mean I lost my child. I lost Luke's child which kills me. I may be able to get over the shock and surprise, but I will never be able to get over the loss or the guilt.
Forgiveness is hard to come by and I'm not sure I'm willing to give that to myself. If there is one thing I have learned it is that I need to listen to the ones I know and love for they are the ones that we keep me living and maybe just maybe forgiving.