“It’s called ‘vanishing twins,’” Dr. Kaplan said. “It happens a lot with multiples but most people don’t know it happens because they haven’t had an ultrasound yet. Just remember that each pregnancy is separate and this won’t have any effect on the other one. It looks outstanding.”
Those are the last words I remember hearing today, but I know I’ve talked to other people since I left the IVF clinic for the last time. I barely remember how I maneuvered my way out of the cramped downtown Chicago traffic only to end up at my desk in Ravenswood with a venti Americano in my hand. The only moment that remains illuminated, beyond his words telling us that one of our babies miscarried, is Tori Amos’ “The Beekeeper” repeatedly haunting the Subaru’s stereo.
I cannot accept that she will be taken from me.
But Constance and I both are leaving work to go home and try to do just that - accept that the first flash of joy in this entire process has been taken from us. I know we still have a lot to be thankful for, and I know that the complications will be less, and I know what’s most important now is that we still have one baby growing strong. But I don’t really care about all of that today. Constance and I will be mourning the loss of something very real and very important that has been taken from us too soon .
Anything but this. Can you use me instead?
For some reason I remembered that Dr. Kaplan said our lost one would be “absorbed.” Now I can’t get this scene from “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” out of my head. Hey, at least something made me laugh today.