In a carefully calculated choice obviously designed to completely destroy any sense of equilibrium I currently have, I fuck up the timing of my second ultrasound appointment.
This is the one that will show me where the little thing is, and whether it has any of those useful things like a fetal pole or yolk sack, or anything that might be useful. You know, the one that will stop me thinking that my baby is ectopic. Nothing important, just peace of mind so that I can get on with worrying about miscarriage.
Turns out it is not today after all. Its Wednesday. As in two days. As in the day that Spot can't go, as his entire week has been arranged around today.
3 frantic phone calls later and the clinic has rearranged the u/s for first thing Wed morning, at least we can go to our doom together. In the meantime, Spot fields calls and texts from people desperately waiting to hear our today went. Reason No# 176 not to tell people anything.
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