Sitting in the waiting room at my Recurrent Miscarriage Clinic. My palms itch, I’ve got knots in my stomach. This is the place where only bad news is delivered to us. I don’t like it here.
It’s unfortunate the clinic shares the space with the Early Pregnancy Unit. I’m sitting here overhearing people in various stages of happiness having just seen a heart beating, an encouraging little sack in the right place, some indication that their baby is thriving. Witnessing the squeezing of hands, the giggles, the I-don’t-believe-its. It’s a wonderful thing, the excitement that goes along with this news. So I’m trying not to pass judgement, I have no idea the history these people carry, how hard it might have been for them. I have to assume if they are in the EPU then something has happened for them to require an early scan. Maybe they are people just like me. I had just imagined that everyone has had a blissfully happy pregnancy experience but I know that’s not always the case.
It’s hard not to be envious, because I really really am. I want to be in their position. I want to be happy and excited and reassured. Is that something that I’ll ever get to feel? Is it too late for that now? Can I ever relax knowing how much could and has gone wrong. I doubt it. But I guess it’s the little things. It’s getting from Stage A to Stage B, then on to C. Mini celebrations at mini milestones. Maybe that’s what all these couples in the waiting room are doing. Hopefully one day we can join them.