“So about how long had you been trying to get pregnant before this miscarriage?” the OB/GYN, whom I’d only met minutes earlier, asked me. He stared intently at me from across his desk in a cramped little office.
“Fifteen months,” I answered woodenly, trying my best to staunch the tears that had been flowing freely for nearly a week since we lost our baby at eight weeks gestation. It was almost more than I could handle, this impromptu meeting after waiting in the OB/GYN office, surrounded by heavily pregnant women, with posters of babies at various stages of gestation covering the walls. And I’d just been through yet another invasive exam—perhaps the fourth or fifth since the first signs of miscarriage began more than a week ago—this time with one very nervous intern, who needed to make sure I didn’t have any retained bits of placenta that could later cause infection…