The Beloved Dr S

My beloved Dr S followed me through my pregnancy with my Youngest, Soon-To-Be-Middle. He also very tenderly broke the news to me when we lost a baby. I expect similar news today. I find, despite my reservations, that I am hoping the news is good, but trying not to be too hopeful.

Backtrack to that last time...
I'd gotten a new Nickelback album and I was 30 minutes early for my appointment, so I popped it in the CD player for a listen. I'd spotted just a little bright red at work the night before so Dr S agreed to see me right away. I'd downright hemorrhaged with the both the Oldest and the Youngest, so I wasn't alarmed. While the ultra sound tech did her thing I was hearing the Nickelback song in my head, "Now I know whyyyyy-yyy I felt like s*** when I woke up this morning." The tech leaves to go get Dr S. Just like during my whole pregnancy with the Youngest. But then Dr S came into the room and as he walked past me, he ever so gently stroked his finger across my left cheek. And I knew. He'd never done that before. I was very quiet while he repeated the ultra sound, just like he always had before. But this wasn't before and he was about to say things he'd never said before. "I'm so sorry," he says. "There is no baby now." Pause. He takes my hands in his. "I cannot tell you why. It was fine and healthy the last time we looked." He's gentle and tender but I can't stop sobbing. I get dressed. I leave. I sit in the van to call The Dear Daddy. I call The Other Mommy and she insists on keeping the kids over night. I drive home. Walking up the driveway, I wonder how I'm going to go on...we hadn't talked about names yet, but I'd wanted to name her Hannah. When The Dear Daddy gets home we stand in the kitchen holding each other. We're both grateful that we hadn't told the kids about this pregnancy yet. We've been through many hard and painful things in our long relationship. The losses of parents, jobs, friends, siblings, a few dreams we'd had to discard, some terrors we'd had to face. This new pain proved to be the single most awful thing we'd experienced. It also turned out to be in the long run, the thing, the tie, the glue, that would hold us together forever.

But that was before. To this day I cannot hear that song without remembering Hannah, but it's still a favorite all the same.  So today on my way to see Dr S, I pulled over to the side of the road to dig that CD out. It just felt right as I slipped it into the player.

During the appointment there's a nurse on my left taking a health history and the ultrasound tech on my right, busily sliding a goo covered wand over my abdomen. What's different this time is that good ol' Dr S is standing over the tech watching. Different than before of course because this is today. While the nurse on my left continues asking questions I am vaguely aware of the big LCD screen mounted on the wall above the exam table. I see a jumping yellow line across the bottom and assume it's uterine thrill. I also see hazy black-white-grey images and assume it's my uterus. I must have really been counting on bad news because I've seen a ton of ultrasounds in my private life and in my career, but I had no clue until Dr S said, "Let Mom hear." Then it clicked. It was the heartbeat. My baby's heartbeat. The tech ran the cursor over the baby. My baby.

Dr S says the baby looks great and it's heartbeat is just fine. He cannot find a source of the bleeding I've been having and sees none now. He wants me to take a baby aspirin every day and to stop working to be on bed rest. He said the baby's size is consistent with a seven week intra uterine pregnancy and gives me an estimated due date of December 6th. Just like before. Hannah's EDD was December 6th. But this is today and I have two pictures of the tiny little baby growing inside me today.