I sit here in the parking garage...contemplating the possible ways this could turn out.
"Go to the doctor."
It's just not that easy.
Giving in to madness won't provide me any lasting answers...only feed into more madness. Yes, I'll know if baby is still alive at that moment in the doctor's office...but that means NOTHING to me. I had an ultrasound only a few days before Travis died. There he was...all wiggly and cute. Four days later...dead. Short of bringing an ultrasound machine home, I'm not going to feel as though I have any "answers" (I wish I were friends with Tom Cruise right about now).
And it doesn't matter really. If it's dead, it's dead. If it's not...well...yay! That doesn't mean it won't be dead tomorrow...or the next day...or the day after that. My going to my doctor for constant (false) reassurance isn't going to make it any better. It can't change what's going to happen at this stage. Maybe later...if/when viability is an issue...but it will accomplish nothing right now. So I'm choosing to try the Zen approach (which isn't really working all that well, in case you hadn't figured that out). If I weren't pregnant, I'd drink. Ha! Maybe that should be my reason to call the doctor! The possibility of wine if it all goes to shit!
It's a bit like watching a train versus car accident unfold in front of you, isn't it? There is absolutely NOTHING you can do but stare in horror and hope the car moves out of the way in time. Maybe it'll make it...maybe it won't.
"This is one of those times where sitting on the porch together in Niagara would be so great." Indeed.