Bumped

I stood in our kitchen, hot tears filling my eyes as I listened to the phone message M had already told me about. I’ve gotten much, much worse news before (Nov. 2 comes to mind as probably my “worst news day” ever), but between my raging hormones, the almost constant blizzards here in Wisconsin, work stress for both M and me and difficulties sleeping, this news hit me particularly hard.

My 7-week ultrasound for tomorrow has been cancelled.

It seems that Dr. Hot is on vacation and the other RE at the clinic has been testifying in court this week and doesn’t expect to be back. They’re having a hard enough time fitting in all the women who HAVE to be seen—by someone—because of their cycle dates, so there’s just no way they’d be able to do a pregnancy ultrasound. No matter how much I whined and cried.

Because of the aforementioned stress, I had sort of been looking forward to the ultrasound as the Holy Grail of this week—the one potentially good thing in a week filled with crap. It’s been rescheduled for Monday morning.

I have enough perspective to know that, long-term, my ultrasound being pushed back four days will not matter. But for now, I reserve the right to be disappointed and frustrated.