Not for those with sensitive sensibilities.

"That's a huge scar. Is that from your C-section?" the nurse asked.

"Yep." I reply. Looking down at it fondly. I never mind seeing my scar. It is very long, maybe eight inches, but it curves up at the end like a smile. When I think of the day Skyler was born, I smile, too.

As she goes to examine me, I remark that at 7 months in I still have occasional acute pain at the site of the incision.

She gloves her hand, and starts to check me over. The heat from the light is strong and I feel self-conscious that I should have shaved my legs last night.

Sheepishly, I apologize. " I am really sorry about my legs. I didn't realize I would be doing this today."

The nurse who is kind and soft-spoken has a 15 year old girl of her own. She tells me she doesn't mind with a smile. My legs are not what she is looking at.

What she is looking at is lots and lots of scar tissue. Glancing inside, she says in a sad way, "Wow, your insides are a mess. There is scar tissue everywhere. And I don't think they put you back together exactly right. Your cervix, is twisted, pushed back, and tilted."

My heart sinks. I ask if I could still have another baby and she says she cannot comment on that. But her face tells the story of words she seems too kind to say. My heart starts to break little by little. But, I only have a moment to feel sorry for myself. For the baby who I will likely never know.

Crashing my pity party, she interrupts my thoughts. She asks if I mind having an ultrasound. She has found a lump the size of a quarter. It's probably nothing. Only I don't feel like it's nothing. I have had a sinking feeling lately that I am unwell. Memories from 2004, when they found cancer cells flood my mind.

In the last 30 days I have lost ten pounds while eating 3 meals a day, some of which have come from Burger King and finishing each night off with a candy bar. I am not on a diet. My husband is not losing weight.

She orders a full blood work up and tries to reassure me. "You are a working mother. It makes people skinny."

And, my heart continues to break. It's crumbling like meringue nests from Marks and Spencers. My thoughts instantly turn to the other child I may not ever know.

Throughout Skyler's 9 month stay in the lovin' oven, I made her video messages. I have had the nagging feeling in my gut that I won't be around to see her grow up. And, so over the nine months I told her everything I would need her to know about life and how to live it. And, in some cases how not to live it. I told her how much I loved her. And to be whoever she wanted to be.

Stewart thought I was batshit. He doesn't like to think about things like that, and I suppose I don't either. And, maybe it's nothing. But, today I am glad I did it. I am glad there is a document, a testament to my love for my daughter. We are all dying one day at a time. It's just that some of us know what will kill us and some of us don't.

I hope my fear is unfounded. I hope I watch those videos of me babbling about boys, career, destiny, acceptance, faith, and love will be watched by me and Skylie with a big bowl of popcorn when she is a grown women. I hope that when I sing the lullaby I wrote her to the camera that is not the only way she remembers it.

Hope.

All I can do is hope.