This morning, I’m going to the hospital for an ultrasound test. It’s the same kind of test women look forward to having to see their babies growing in the womb. Oh look, there’s his fingers. I can hear his heartbeat! They go home with a picture to show everyone. Of course sometimes, the test turns tragic, showing no baby or a baby that is deformed or has died. To me that’s worse than never having a baby.
But it’s not that kind of ultrasound. Whatever else might be inside me, there is no baby. The technicians will be seeking the cause of my persistent stomach problems. I’m torn between hoping they find something—finally an answer!—and hoping they don’t. At least I’m pretty sure this will not be the kind where they stick a wand up your vagina. Been there, hated that. Let’s keep it all on the outside, please.
It’s not my first ultrasound, but I’m always a little sad that I’ll never have the one where I see my baby. Not that I’d know what it was. In my experience, it’s all a bunch of fuzzy dots that don’t make any sense to me. When I did this three years ago for basically the same problem, it was a fascinating tour through my parts. There’s your liver, there’s your gall bladder, there’s your kidneys . . .
Anyway. I’ll be going alone. I won’t be anesthetized, so there’s no reason I can’t drive myself. But this morning, hungry from fasting, headachy from lack of caffeine, and a bit scared of what they might find, I wish I had someone to hold my hand. I wish my late husband Fred was still here.
Lately I’ve been getting a taste of what it’s like to be single and childless at 66. I drove myself to the ER when this started with incredible pain one night in December. A friend took me for my colonoscopy/endoscopy three weeks ago. Afterward, I was back to being alone, even though the instructions said to have someone with you for 24 hours. There is no family member nearby to whom it would naturally fall to take care of me.
Would having children solve this? Not really. My friends’ grown children live far away, work full-time and are busy with their own children. Besides, I’m not sure I’d want a grown-up child treating me like an old person and telling me what to do. In fact, I’m sure I don’t want that.
So what am I saying? Having an ultrasound for something other than a baby makes me sad. And build up your support network, whether it be family or friends. No matter how independent you think you are, you’re going to need it.
I’m confident that whatever they find, I’ll be okay. If I can survive my daily speed walks with Annie up and down the hills here, I’m pretty healthy. We both are.
As always, I cherish your comments.
4 thoughts on “The sorrow of a childless ultrasound test”
Hugs to you. I’ve had a few (non-baby) ultrasounds done lately. Like you I lamented that they weren’t for children. Like you I drove myself. Had a bit of a cry on the way home after.
Prayers to you that the ultrasound reveals something treatable and that you are able to weather the medical world, needing only minimal assistance. And especially that you can return to your previous vigor.
One thing I’ve learned is that we don’t get to pick our challenges and even in our challenges we have choices. Prayers and best wishes to you.
Thank you, Anonymous. It’s over. I got weepy. Now I wait for the results.
Hi Sue, hope the results are back and it’s not serious.
I had an ultrasound on miscarriage #3….no heartbeat. I cherish the picture they gave me though. Doctors said I’d never get pregnant, so to get pregnant was a gift and although I lost the baby at 8 weeks and the sadness is too much at times, I cherish those 8 weeks of being normal.