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Pj Accetturo 172481

It was late afternoon on a warm spring day when I pulled into the vast shopping center parking lot. I put my car into park and began to sob.
A few Kleenexes later, I pulled myself together and got out of my car. “Just don’t lose it when you ask the question,” I told myself as I made my way toward the Barnes and Noble.

The two sets of wooden doors seemed heavier than normal as I pushed them open. I inhaled the familiar smell of book paper and ground coffee then made a quick left and walked straight up to the information desk. With her short black hair and round wire-rimmed glasses halfway down her nose, she could have easily been a character straight out of a Harry Potter book. Strangely enough, the Harry Potter section was just to the left of us toward the back of the store.
I didn’t know if I was going to laugh or cry when she spoke to me in an English accent.

“May I help you?”

I’ve never been one to speak in whispers, in fact my husband claims it’s not possible for me, but I still tried to speak softly.

“Where is your section on Infertility and Miscarriages?”

She looked over her glasses at me,

“I’m sorry, WOT?”

I could feel the big lump in my throat as I swallowed. I was actually miscarrying, bleeding and cramping as I stood there in the store. I had just come from my OB/GYN’s office. I needed information on how to cope with what I was going through. I felt so sad and incredibly alone. I felt like a failure to my husband. I also was compelled to learn about the biological aspects of what was happening to me.

“Infertility and Miscarriages? Where is that section?”
“That is the oddest request! I have worked here ten years and I’ve never had anyone ask for those sorts of books before. We don’t have anything on those subjects, I am sorry.”

It was hard for me to believe that in the seemingly infinite rows of books there wouldn’t be one book on miscarriage and infertility. All around me were study guides, cookbooks, even racy titles for couples bored in the bedroom. There were books targeted at women who were pregnant, women who had lost children and countless books on dieting. How could there not any books on miscarriage and infertility?

Tears welled up in my eyes as I walked back out into the parking lot. I wanted to punch her. She couldn’t have been any more cold. I wanted to scream. This was my third miscarriage in a row. Something was definitely wrong with me, and I didn’t know where to turn or what to do. I knew right then and there – that someday I would write my story to make this information available for women like me.