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SEVEN WEEKS AND FIVE DAYS This story doesn't have a happy ending. I've never been good with the girl stuff. The weekend before Derek and I were to leave for the Future of Web Apps in London, I developed a funny taste in my mouth and felt like crap. After doing a bit of math, I realized my period was late. My mother was quite a woman. I remember when I was young, her words of wisdom to me were, "Heather, never let a man put his penis between your legs." This left its mark on me. I was well into my thirties before I was no longer afraid of being pregnant teenager. At forty-four, I found myself peeing on a pregnancy test for the first time. It's an odd sensation to sit and wait for a $15 piece of plastic to predict your future. Of course, it took three tests for me to believe that it was true. Derek and I were so happy. The trip to London was rough. I've done a fair amount of traveling of late, all of it made manageable through Ambien and caffeine. Alas, both are a no-no when you're traveling for two. FOWA and the following days of meetings and wanderings were a blur. Between London and New York, I slept when I wasn't working and did my very best not to vomit on my coworkers, tamping down the nausea with seltzer and crackers. On Saturday, two days after our Flickr event in New York, and the day Tara and I were supposed to fly to Brazil, I awoke to find a blood in my pajamas. I sat on the bathroom floor as a frisson of fear ripped through my body. Spotting is common for many pregnant women, so I tried to remain calm. Despite being only 5:30am in San Francisco, Derek was a saint dealing with his completely freaked out wife. The thought of flying for 10 hours to Sao Paulo without knowing what was going on terrified me. I called my ObGyn back in San Francisco and one of the midwives advised me to have an ultrasound to get a better idea of what was going on (our first prenatal exam wasn't scheduled until November 1st). The only way to have an ultrasound with no notice on a weekend was to visit the emergency room. NYU Medical Center was a only a few long blocks away. I walked over, crying most of the way. It wasn't too busy and the staff were very kind. My blood-work was done quickly and I endured the indignity of a pelvic exam, only to have my diagnosis train slow to a crawl while I waited for someone to come down from ObGyn to handle the ultrasound. Saturday morning at an emergency room in New York is a parade of ills: a little boy with his extended family as entourage, a young teacher concerned about a rash that might be shingles, a university student with mono and various elderly patients suffering from the march of time. Luckily, Tara arrived to keep me company and run interference with the creepy dude who was trying to hit on me. Tara has a magnificent hurry up and do something demeanor that seemed to inspire the staff. My prognosis was "so so." There was something in my left tube and something in my uterus, but it was too early in my pregnancy to determine what was what. With a "low to moderate risk of ectopic pregnancy," I was grounded from flying and told to return in two days for another blood test and a more high resolution ultrasound. Derek dropped everything and arrived at the door of my hotel room fifteen hours later. I couldn't ask for a more loving husband. Sunday was glorious and we did our best to only think good thoughts as we enjoyed unseasonably warm weather and the beauty of New York in the fall. As I mentioned at the beginning, this story doesn't have a happy ending. Monday's ultrasound showed no baby. I'd had a miscarriage. After seven weeks and five days, my first pregnancy had come to a quiet end. Grief is no stranger to my doorstep. My mother lost her battle with cancer when I was just 19 and my father died two years later from a heart attack. Losing my parents at an early age defines much of who I am today. I'm not sure how to wrap my head around losing a baby who had yet to be. I'm bereft of never having the opportunity to meet my child, of watching him or her grow into being their own person. I'm of an age now where I see my parents in myself - the way that my mother pursed her lips when she was thinking hard, or how my "evil" laugh is an echo of my father's. I'll never know how our baby might have been a mirror of Derek and myself. If the universe is willing, we'll have another chance. And for what it's worth, I want it more than ever before. 10/25/2007
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