One week between the day Melinda tested pregnant and the day she started bleeding as heavily as a normal period, with worse than normal cramps. Over three hours in the waiting room outside Emergency, on a Friday night in early summer with a full moon. Pregnant woman with a baby in her arms sat down next to us, just to grind the irony into us mercilessly. On tv, we watched an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation in which Warf zaps between alternate universes. In one of them, Troi says Warf has children with her. Warf has to leave that reality to return to his son Alexander. Presumably the appropriate Warf will be replaced in that reality with Troi, but for a moment, it seems that Warf is losing children that he has never fully known. Just like Melinda and I were doing as we sat in the waiting room, waiting to confirm if Brisby or Caledonia was a miscarriage.
We were there from 9 PM until 5 AM. To make things worse, it's too early to really tell for sure whether the pregnancy is still okay or whether it's a miscarriage. Her hormone levels are low, and the doctor says it's probably a miscarriage, but get another blood test on Monday and see what the ob/gyn says then. Nothing like keeping us in suspense. Another weekend to get our hopes up, but we knew better.
On 5/12/2003, I wrote about the possibility of miscarriage: "You on the web, whoever you are, we'll probably write about it no matter what happens, so it's no big deal here either." Except I wasn't thinking about whether I'd have to read it again, or what I'm supposed to do with a god damn blog titled "Notes to Self and Kid" that has become moot within a week.
Although we may try to have kids later, the names "Caledonia" and "Brisby" are officially retired. If Christ and his spokespeople were right, then little Caledonia or Brisby is chillin in the afterlife with her Grandma Shirley and Grandpa Tom right now. Maybe we'll meet them all later.
