Click here for the part one of “Peaks & Valleys: My Pregnancy Reveal”
It was about 11 p.m. when I got home from the hospital, and I had a decision to make. Would I tell Mr. T about the baby and that there might no longer be one, or would I keep it to myself, visit my OB/GYN, and hope Dr. Moron was wrong?
I know what you’re thinking: Why would keeping that secret even cross my mind? Because I couldn’t bear the thought of Mr. T hurting the way I was. His dad was dying, and I didn’t want to add to his pain. So if I had to mourn our baby by myself and only in my heart, then that’s what I’d do.
But what a horrible secret to keep. Could I live with myself if I didn’t give him a chance to grieve? Would my grief eventually drive a wedge between us?
The bleeding had slowed considerably by the time I visited my doctor days later, but not enough for me to feel reassured.
I was pregnant, my doctor said after giving me a urine test, but I’d still have pregnancy hormones in my system even if I’d miscarried. She was pissed about what Dr. Moron said to me … but she couldn’t tell me anything based on her exam.
I needed to wait a few weeks — three, to be exact — for an ultrasound to show whether I’d lost the baby.
I felt the tears burning my eyes. I was so sick of crying.
It’ll be OK, Mr. T said, trying his best to comfort me. We can wait a few more weeks.
You know what they say: Good things come to those who wait.