The ultrasound tech slides the wand across my abdomen from side to side and asks me how sure I am about my dates.
I am sick and I am struggling not to pee on the exam table and I am very sure about my dates.
She tells me she needs to do an internal ultrasound and I begrudgingly agree.
"I don't know what I'm looking at," she says as she stares at the screen. She is young and she is beautiful and I hate her.
She leaves to consult with the doctor while I dress. She turns the screen off before I'm able to sit up and stare at the image of my uterus, not that I have any earthly idea what an 8w3d embryo is supposed to look like.
I wait for what feels like forever but is probably only ten minutes before the tech comes back. Her speech is clumsy and full of pauses, and she flits awkwardly about the room, moving the curtain, adjusting the sheet that's slipped off the table, replacing the lube in the warmer, turning up the lights, as she tells me there are two - time stops at two and my brain immediately jumps to: two babies! Twins! Not one surprise baby but TWO surprise babies! Grady is going to have two siblings. Shawn and I are having twins holy fuck we're having twins how am I going to grow two babies in my broken body?!
My insane train of thought screeches to a halt as I hear her finish "two signs of pregnancy - the yolk sac and gestational sac. But there is no fetal pole."
She tells me not to worry. That my dates are probably off. That the doctor wants me to come back in a week and there may be a fetal pole and a heartbeat. She is so sweet and so very young and I don't have the energy to hate her or feel much of anything besides feeling 100% sure my dates are correct.