There was a really amazing moment on Friday afternoon when it looked like we were having twins. There were two little amniotic sacks very clearly on the screen. But then things stopped making sense. The first baby was measuring less than 7 weeks along. On closer inspection there wasn’t a developing second baby at all. The problem was I had a positive pregnancy test 28 days after my last period, so I should be almost 10 weeks pregnant. Even if the first baby was still alive something was wrong. There was no way it should be so small.
I still don’t have any answers. Blood was drawn to test hormone levels and more will be drawn on Tuesday. There will be another ultrasound on Tuesday and we’ll see if the baby is getting any bigger.
But all of that really doesn’t seem important. At the end of the appointment I asked the doctor what she thought.
“It doesn’t look good. I’m sorry.”
I appreciated her honesty. She was kind throughout the whole process. It really had to suck for her to be the bearer of bad tidings. I almost told her it was our 10th wedding anniversary, but I thought that would be too mean, too over the top.
When I got home I took a pregnancy test that was left under my sink. The pregnant line showed up before the control line. There are still tons of pregnancy hormones surging through my body. I’m still nauseas. It kind of feels like a sick joke. I feel like I’m in purgatory. Waiting, waiting for news, or the miscarriage to begin.
I’ve known I was pregnant for six weeks. Six weeks isn’t very long in the scheme of things. But it is long enough to really make plans. To get used to and then to love the idea of the kids being 20 months apart. To be excited about having a spring baby. To be so curious to meet this new little creature. To honestly be fine with it being a boy or a girl. To fall in love. To figure out how we are going to redo our second floor to make room for one more in the family (or two, there were two at one point…). To buy a double stroller we found at a yard sale for $25. That stroller is in the basement now. It will hurt me every time I see it. Such hubris on our part! Who did we think we were buying something for the baby before we’d been to the doctor? It’s like we were asking for this to happen.
Clearly my body can produce a healthy child, but I feel like I betrayed myself and Z. What did I do to cause this to happen? Was it the stress from the anxiety hives? Was it the cold I got? Did I take a medicine I wasn’t supposed to take? Was it dehydration? I read that dehydration can cause a miscarriage. I feel so guilty.
I am numb. I am numb and in horrifying pain at the same time. It is just too much to process. Z’s band has a radio appearance in Manhattan to promote their reunion show next weekend. So he is gone and I truly feel alone. An example of how we hurt each other in ways we couldn’t imagine at the beginning. An example of how two people cope with the same event in such different ways.
An example of how a day is just a day. Our 10th anniversary ended up being the worst case scenario. Can you believe I was excited that we would see the heartbeat for the first time on such a significant day? I was imagining what a great story that would be to tell our new child. It didn’t occur to me that things would turn out this way. Heartbreak and disappointment. Needless to say we cancelled the hotel room.
But. One terrible anniversary, one excruciating weekend doesn’t define the marriage. The heartbreak can’t take away our amazing son. Somehow Tuesday will get here. Our limbo will end, at least then no matter what the outcome, we will start to move on. And who knows? There could be a miracle.
Note: Z has read this post and he is supportive enough to let me write what I need to without censoring myself. “Well,” he said, “it’s honestly uncomfortable alright.”