The quick pinprick produced a single bubble of bright red blood. Beep! The midwife’s hemoglobin meter calibrated its magic, and I knew in five seconds she’d know the truth. My strength was sapped.
“Uh-oh.” She gave me the look. “Not good.”
“How bad?” I asked.
“I’m hoping you won’t need a blood transfusion when these babies come. Your iron is dangerously low.”
I didn’t need her to tell me. It was all I could do to walk to the kitchen without passing out. Cleaning up after my five older children, all of them under 10, wasn’t on the radar. I trembled to think of life once the twins came. All I could do was slump on the couch as straight as I could and hope I didn’t look like the loser I felt.
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