It’s the day of the ultrasound. Maybe everything will be okay now. Scrutinizing the screen, the technician shows me the baby, but then mumbles, “Where’s the heartbeat?” before rushing out the door. We sit there confused. Someone finally ushers us into another room. A nurse comes in and says, “I’m sorry.”
In the waiting room, we’re bonded together in a sisterhood few can understand. Whether it’s from loss or relief, we’re a mass of emotions, the air is thick with it. I’m sure others are as weathered and battered as I am.