The waterworks.

Today I had my "medical" with a Government agency Doctor. Middle aged man, just to set the scene.

So after examining my stinky, arthritic feet and asking me to bend my knees he said, "Tell me about your depression after the miscarriage". Cue tears, tears and more tears, even the odd sob. You'd think I'd be all out of tears by now, surely I've cried a small lake this last year, there can't be any more? "Oh you can have another you know, my daughter had two miscarriages and infertility treatments and after IVF she has twins". I couldn't think of anything to say. Bleaugh.

Anyway, we came home and started watching a tv show. Episode three and one of the characters is pregnant (why is there always a pregnant woman in absolutely everything we watch these days?) suddenly she's doubled up on the floor cramping. Then she's in the brightly lit (!) ultrasound room, and she's on her cellphone (!!) with a friend "they can't find the heartbeat..." "they will, they will" and of course, they do. And I just burst into yet more tears. This isn't how we found out that George was gone but we had a couple of ultrasounds where we held our breath, and then that sound, that wonderful sound.

Yesterday I almost posted about how down I was feeling. Today I have the puffy eyes to prove it.