"Are you still having bleeding?" He asks. I nod my head...my throat
is, once again, too tight to speak. I feel like an idiot. It's
medicine. Science. There's no room for emotion in science.

"Better or worse than yesterday?"

"Worse," I whisper, desperately looking to the ceiling, praying that
the tears won't spill over. Why do I care now? Why with a doctor, who
deals with this, and worse, on a daily basis. I guess hormones and
emotion know no logic.

"Any pain?" Again, I nod, too scared to speak. The nurse gives me a
sympathetic smile. I'd rather she pick her nose, scratch her butt,
anything other than show me kindness right now.

He asks her to go out and get the blood test results, even though I
know them by heart. 80 on Monday. 100 on Thursday. Not enough of a
raise. Rh negative - my body will build a resistance to any potential
(and probable) future Rh positive fetuses. But I don't say anything,
because maybe, if I don't, the results will be different. Maybe the
numbers will have doubled, like they should have. Maybe I can change
the inevitable by keeping quiet. Maybe if I speak up, I'll show too
much doubt and God won't reward my strong faith with an impossible
miracle. And besides, they'll figure it out soon enough.

I scoot down on the table, for better ultrasound access. He squints
at the monitor, then reaches to shut off the lights. He moves the wand
around, and I gasp at how much it hurts. "I'm sorry," he says. He asks
if I could provide a urine sample. I laugh. After 10 days of having to
pee nonstop, this must be the first time I don't have to use the
bathroom. But I try anyway.

After providing the sample, I go to his office. He studies the
ultrasound images, and compares them to the ones from a week ago. "Most
likely, you miscarried." He says. I try to think of a way to find hope
in the word "maybe," but I can't. I know better. My body has been
telling me from the get go that something is wrong. He continues:
"There's nothing in your uterus, see here? It's empty. If the urine test is negative, we'll
give you an Rh shot and we're done."

The nurse comes back in with my results. "It still says positive,"
she says. He nods his head. "We're not out of the woods for a tubal pregnancy," he says, "Can you get your blood drawn today?"

So JS and I head out for the lab. We wait an hour - there are only 2
techs. I offer my already bruised vein, not even bothering to pray for
a miracle. I just want it to be over. Done. Whatever is inside of me, I
want it out. I suddenly feel a connection with women who wait anxiously
in abortion clinics. They must feel the exact same way that I do right
now. They just want their bodies back.

We get lunch after. I'm not very hungry, but I'm extremely light
headed, so I eat what I can. We come home and, after reading up on
mortality rates for tubal pregnancies, I take a nap. While I'm
sleeping, JS brings in some flowers that John sent me. They're lovely:
bright and huge and yellow. I have the best friend in the universe.

And now I wait again. My eyes are puffy and sore from crying. I've
become an online expert at deciphering Hcg numbers, and I determined
that, based on size, I was probably close to 8 weeks along...further
than what seems possible, but, hey, if the pregnancy was doomed from
the start, then I never would have thought to take a home test anyway.

I hope and I pray that it's a "simple" miscarriage. I don't want to
keep feeling afraid every time I go to the bathroom. I want to move on.
I want to get past this and, eventually, begin thinking about what's
next. I want my hormones to subside so I don't burst into sobs on an
elevator when a woman comes on with a stroller and a toddler.

I have such wonderful people in my life: the perfect boyfriend, a made for TV movie worthy best friend, sympathetic boss and confidant...but still, I wish I could talk to my parents about this. I wish I could cry
on the phone with my mom. That she'd listen. That she'd care. That she
wouldn't just think that I got what I deserve, living in sin and all.

Then again, I also wish that I had an MP3 of a rapid "whoosh whoosh
whoosh" to post and play on repeat...so I guess that wishing isn't
going to accomplish much tonight.