Goodbye and Hello

It started with an apology.

That's how it usually starts when I'm faced with a situation I cannot completely control from start to finish.  My coping mechanism is to start apologizing for everything - the unknown, our crowded kitchen, my socks, the time I gave the worst maid of honor speech ever.  I looked over at my mother-in-law who surprised me by canceling all her patients to be with me that afternoon, and all I could do was apologize.

I knew that she wouldn't have come if she thought there would be a good result.  And all I could think about at that point was that she could never get that time back and I was responsible for what was going to eventually ruin her day.  I couldn't find the right words to say. Or any words, really.  I looked up at her but couldn't bear to make eye contact.

Of course, I apologized again.  You know, for the flighty eyes.

And really, the rest of it was kind of a blur.  I remember entering the little room and a very pleasant woman turning out the lights. I saw the tiny screen with my name on it and before she even began I knew she was not going to see anything.  The flutter I saw just 5 days before that brought such joy to PH's face, the proof that we had started something special... I knew I would not see that again.  Not this time.

And then, for some reason I stopped apologizing. For a minute, anyway.  I didn't cry.  I didn't react at all. The woman had to expect that I would be in tears or at least showing some kind of emotion.  But there I was, getting dressed in what had to be record time, asking her where the exit was and shaking her hand and thanking her for trying.   She was stunned.  She said that usually at this point she would call in my family and that they could be with me for support as she calls my doctor and lets her know the results.  I asked her if she could make an exception.  I knew the results and I didn't want to hear them being spoken of so professionally.  Like when I was three and had chicken pox and my parents took me to the  pediatrician, who upon examining me got the biggest smile on his face and exclaimed, "Varicella!" What was a three-year-old to think when I could barely comprehend the days of the week or why I now had to use a big porcelain machine to do what I did perfectly well for years in a convenient diaper? Varicella?  Sounded like Italian food.  Or, as I thought when I was three, the yummy stuff with the red sauce.  Confused the crap out of me. I thought for sure on the way home we'd be stopping for some food.  In between itching and feeling sick, I am sure I complained about the lack of spaghetti.

The last thing I wanted was to have to sit there and learn a new term for miscarriage.  As far as I was concerned, there was nothing further to talk about.  I needed to get out, and fast.  The woman said she had to get special permission from her supervisor as to whether or not I could leave without The Call and The Support.  "Most people prefer to have the support," she said softly.  I'm pretty sure I smiled at her (because I did not want her to think I was not thankful or that I was blaming her for any part of my misfortune). "I know," I replied, realizing I was missing one of my socks.  My eyes wandered around the room looking for it, and while I was at it, a secret back door or something so I did not have to face my mother-in-law.  All that Support.  That amazing, wonderful Support that was just waiting for me, that I waived and had special permission not to have.  "I'm sorry."

I remember going back to the waiting room and shaking my head.  And somehow I got back to my car and she got into the passenger seat to stay with me, and I apologized for the empty water bottles on the seat and for the seat needing a major adjustment.  "I'm short, so I have little legs....so the seat.... you know," I stammered.  Like she needed that reminder.  I think she was very well aware that she's 5'11" and I'm short. She's known me for almost 11 years.  It was not a revelation.  Then I realized that she would probably be wondering why I sit in my passenger seat at all.  Yes, your son drives my car sometimes and I ride passenger.  I fall asleep on car trips. It's one of my most favorite activities.  You're judging me!

Just please let's not talk of the baby.  Or what was the baby.  Please just let me drive away from this hospital and go home.

She offered to come home with me but we both knew I would decline.  And on the entire car ride home, I felt guilty for not hugging her goodbye.  I don't even know if I said goodbye.  I wondered if I was rude to her. I hoped not, but I truly didn't know.

I opened the door to my house, and immediately went to the kitchen and saw the ultrasound pictures from just five days before that we had proudly hung on our fridge.  I took it down and apologized. I wanted to make it clear that I wasn't trying to forget it ever existed, but that the thought of seeing what no longer was there was going to make PH cry.  That would just destroy me.

PH did cry, but he did so privately. The reason I know he cried is because he is even more sensitive than I am.  He cried at Juno and even Lord of the Rings.  He only makes fun of me for crying during Toy Story 3 because it's payback for all the years I made fun of him for crying at Juno.  When he came home, he hugged me and said I could stay in bed if I wanted and I know he would have done anything that I wanted.  But what I really wanted was to be normal.  Not wallow and cry myself to sleep in bed.  He helped me out of bed and we walked downstairs together (not an easy feat considering our narrow staircase and his size 15 feet.  I'll give you a moment to mull that one over.)  I sat down on the couch in my usual spot and wondered what people actually do during the day at 3:00 in the afternoon.  There are a LOT of television shows on at that time based on small claims court!  No wonder adults watch the stuff their kids watch when they are home with their children. It's way more interesting than Judge Joe Brown, Judy, Alex, Mathis and Moishe.  (No, there really isn't a Judge Moishe, but I would totally watch an episode of a former Rabbi turned Judge... yarmulke and robe.... handling ridiculous small claims matters whilst yelling out, "Oy vey!" every now and then. A girl can dream.)

PH stepped out to pick up my medicine (sleeping pills, not pain pills, because seriously: I can handle pain but I will not tolerate not sleeping because of anxiety or overthinking.) He came back with the pills, a rather large bottle of white wine, and sushi.  I took about three seconds to be miserable about the fact that I could now drink wine and eat salmon roe again.

As long as I had PH, I would be able to get through this.  I just hoped I would be able to be there for him, too.  It shouldn't be all about me, but because everything physically happens to the woman, I think sometimes the men are left to the wayside. They do not have physical pain or have to endure any of the testing or treatments, but they are experiencing all of it, just quietly and, if the woman is as lucky as I am, with grace and love and patience.

"I'm sorry," I said to him.  "I know you wanted a baby."  I don't even know why I said that.  More apologizing.

He smiled and said it wasn't meant to be this time, but that it would happen soon.  And not to worry.  Because he was there.  And then he poured a lot more wine into my glass.  I got the hint.

The love in my heart at that moment was almost unbearable. Oh, the irony. Isn't that how this all began in the first place? It's funny how life works out that way.  When one door closes, another opens.  Goodbye, and hello.