The residency is over – hurrah! and boo… I will miss all of the students and faculty – such a weird transition from seeing people all of the time to none of the time.
I found out yesterday that another friend miscarried. 😦 I went to the doc yesterday but they think I’m only six weeks along instead of eight, so I’m going back in two weeks. The doctor didn’t fail to let me know that conceiving while on birth control increases the risk of miscarriage. This is a complicated thing for me, because Lord knows Brandon and I weren’t planning on getting pregnant right now, and the timing (in my world) isn’t very good, for work purposes and for my husband’s sanity, but on the flip side – that would not make a miscarriage any easier to deal with. I saw the little blob on the ultrasound. Any mom knows that the instant you’re aware of being pregnant, all you think about is that baby – names, gender, health, personality – you become fixated, whether you were planning to or not. All of this to say – I’m nervous for this baby and already wondering if he/she’ll make it. Am I not too careful? Am I worried for nothing? Am I suspicious?
In light of other friends’ situations: a poem I wrote for my miscarried babies…
To the Unborn
And now you are the ellipsis,
the unfinished sentence,
the introductory clause
that made hollow promises
and then slipped off the page
almost as an oversight,
as if the printer ran out of ink
or out of paper,
or out of power,
a deadline passed
six months in advance,
the memory
that never was
and never will be
Sarah Marie Wells 