We found out we miscarried I
We found out we miscarried last Friday, Good Friday, April 10th, 2020.
Amidst the slow-motion chaos of Covid-19.
I was waiting in the car in the parking lot at the women's clinic for Linda for what we were hoping was a routine 10-week appointment and ultrasound.
Under normal circumstances I would have been playing the part of the supportive and uninformed partner there to marvel at the grainy black and white image on the ultrasound screen but these aren't normal circumstances.
Linda was not allowed to bring anyone with her due to precautions taken against the spread of the Corona Virus. She was given the ultrasound by a technician who stated that she was not allowed to any feedback about what was discovered with the ultrasound. Linda knew by her face and the quality of her silence and the fact that the probe went on for much longer than the first one with our primary, the one at 6 weeks and 2 days during which we heard a heartbeat, that it was bad news. When the tech had finally finished the silent, fruitless hunt for a heartbeat and told her that "someone will call you later to go over the results." I saw her walking, bawling, across the parking lot and knew what the news was as well.
We had picked possible names, we had shared the news (in some peoples' opinion too soon). I had scoured the forest floor on hands and knees beneath Cedar trees looking for any leftover Cedar seeds somehow still caught in their cones, unbothered by squirrels, hoping to find a seed to plant so that a mighty tree would begin growing right along, on a parallel journey with our little bean, their tree (only to find out after 45 minutes that I had never bothered to look up, so sure that I was searching underneath Cedars that I was actually crawling around underneath Redwoods like a noob). We had been told by our primary that since we heard a heartbeat at 6 weeks and 2 days that the chance of miscarriage had dropped from 30% down to 3%. We had been hopeful. And this news really hurts.
Amidst the slow-motion chaos of Covid-19.
I was waiting in the car in the parking lot at the women's clinic for Linda for what we were hoping was a routine 10-week appointment and ultrasound.
Under normal circumstances I would have been playing the part of the supportive and uninformed partner there to marvel at the grainy black and white image on the ultrasound screen but these aren't normal circumstances.
Linda was not allowed to bring anyone with her due to precautions taken against the spread of the Corona Virus. She was given the ultrasound by a technician who stated that she was not allowed to any feedback about what was discovered with the ultrasound. Linda knew by her face and the quality of her silence and the fact that the probe went on for much longer than the first one with our primary, the one at 6 weeks and 2 days during which we heard a heartbeat, that it was bad news. When the tech had finally finished the silent, fruitless hunt for a heartbeat and told her that "someone will call you later to go over the results." I saw her walking, bawling, across the parking lot and knew what the news was as well.
We had picked possible names, we had shared the news (in some peoples' opinion too soon). I had scoured the forest floor on hands and knees beneath Cedar trees looking for any leftover Cedar seeds somehow still caught in their cones, unbothered by squirrels, hoping to find a seed to plant so that a mighty tree would begin growing right along, on a parallel journey with our little bean, their tree (only to find out after 45 minutes that I had never bothered to look up, so sure that I was searching underneath Cedars that I was actually crawling around underneath Redwoods like a noob). We had been told by our primary that since we heard a heartbeat at 6 weeks and 2 days that the chance of miscarriage had dropped from 30% down to 3%. We had been hopeful. And this news really hurts.
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