We went to the doctor today for our follow up ultrasound. I had high hopes and had spent the last week convincing myself that everything was going to be ok. Our five year old sat in the room, anxiously wanting to see the baby on the screen. I laid down, and the technician let me know she was beginning the ultrasound. Unfortunately it became immediately clear that there was nothing good to be found today. The pregnancy sac was just at five weeks, which was the same as last week. It should have been larger, and at this point we should have been able to see the yolk and fetal pole. Instead I was met with sympathetic eyes and a gentle pat on my knee. I numbly got dressed and was led to a cubby hole to await being called into the exam room. Munchkin was amazing. She was so well behaved. Mister was a rock and did everything he could to distract her from why mommy was sad. Then we met with the doctor. A real person who hugged me as I cried. A kind, compassionate woman who told me that my miscarriage was her third of the day and she was so sorry. A positive woman who reassured us that we would go on to have a healthy pregnancy. We were sent home with medication to help me pass whatever remains and something for the physical pain. There’s nothing that can touch the emotional ache.
So tomorrow I take the medicine and cope. Tomorrow I wake up and I live my life. Tomorrow I will take care of my daughter. I will wash the dishes. I will water our gardens. I will also cry. But I will be ok. I have to be ok.