©Elizabeth McCracken 2009 © Times Newspapers Ltd
Two years ago a writer found herself in France expecting her first child. In an extract from her new book she describes in moving detail the moment she knew she'd lost her baby son and the sorrow that followed
Elizabeth McCracken
We were taken to an examination room, where a very young male sage-femme - not very sage, not at all femme - shook our hands. He wore a pair of bright rubber clogs. I thought then that I would never forget what colour they were, red or green or yellow, but I have no idea, I just remember that they were unusual.
He put the straps around my stomach and turned on the monitor. Nothing. He shifted them around.
He said, in French, I am going to go get my colleague. She is better at this than I am. He disappeared and instead came back and brightly told us that we would go have a sonogram. Good, I thought. Enough messing around. Let's see the kid.
READ FULL ARTICLE CLICK HERE ©Elizabeth McCracken 2009 © Times Newspapers Ltd
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