Just two days later and it’s over.

There’ve been symptoms the whole time, but they’re indistinguishable from general pregnancy symptoms. In particular, Christina was complaining of pain more often than I would have wished for, but plenty of sources said that was perfectly normal for a developing pregnancy. Last night, when she came home from work, she said she didn’t feel pregnant that day at all: most of the day was entirely asymptomatic.

That evening, we watched the Euro Cup semifinal: Germany vs France, playing in Marseille. It was an intensely frustrating game because it was a game of inches: many times, a German play was right on the edge of scoring. Many times, a French play only succeeded by the narrowest of margins. All the same, at the end of the game, France was up two to nothing against Germany. Watching it progress, as Germany accumulated yellow cards and injuries without anything to show, was slow agony because there was absolutely nothing we could do to affect the game; we were just spectators, watching the broadcast.

During the game Christina started bleeding. She had faint traces of blood just as the game started, period-like blood at half time. Obviously something was wrong. Obviously there was nothing which could have been done medically at that time. We were spectators, powerless to affect the situation even as it got worse.

We had trouble falling asleep. We were both being extra tender and sensitive to each other, but we were both frazzled all the same. I found myself employing my typical elaborate circumlocutions to talk about how I felt, and then switched it up for the novelty of being perfectly direct. “I feel sad and anxious. I don’t like what’s happening, I can’t change it, and I’m afraid of what the doctor will tell us in the morning.” It was interesting but not cathartic.

Today we spent from 0830-1630 in doctors’ offices, of which maybe 90 minutes was spent actually in the presence of doctors. They’d already tapped both of Christina’s elbows for blood, so put in a port in a vein in her forearm. We saw three different doctors over the course of the day. We consumed only water, and a quick lunch at a bakery in between doctors.

They diagnosed early on that there was no chance that this was a viable pregnancy. The remaining question is whether it’s a simple early miscarriage, or an ectopic pregnancy: when the blastocyst implants somewhere other than the uterus. In the former case, there’s no other action required; she’ll get her period as normal in four to six weeks and continue on with no strong repercussions. Having one miscarriage does not significantly impact the chances of successfully carrying additional children.

The fear now is that it’s ectopic. In that case, it’s likely a case which requires surgical intervention: the most common place other than the uterus for the blastocyst to implant is the fallopian tube, and the worst-case scenario is that it grows sufficiently to burst the tube and cause life-threatening hemorrhage. We just can’t tell right now: it’s too small to spot on ultrasound, despite intense and detailed inspection.

We find out Monday. They took quite a quantity of blood today, analyzed it for hCG. If the levels fall over the weekend, it was a simple miscarriage, and we just grieve until it’s over. If they rise, it’s ectopic, and there will likely be surgery, assuming they can find the site. They didn’t say what it means if the levels stay constant, because that’s like a flipped coin landing on its edge.

I’d wanted to get an ultrasound printout from Tuesday’s visit showing a dot indicating a healthy embryo. Now all I want Tuesday is to have my wife home safe and un-cut. The surgery has an excellent prognosis as far as recovery, but it has a pretty severe impact on future pregnancies, making them much riskier. I don’t want to dig those statistics out of the textbook right now.

I’m still anxious and sad, and I have no idea how to express those feelings. Weeping isn’t really me, though I kind of feel like I want to. Unproductive, though, and I want to stay strong for Christina. I suspect she’s doing the same for me.

The good news is that the actual chance of an ectopic pregnancy is very low, so the most likely case Monday morning is that we go in, wait for new blood results for a while, then discover that it was just a miscarriage. Life will move on. Maybe, after her next period, we can try again. After all, we at least know that we’re fertile together.

I still have no idea how, or if, to tell my parents about this. If we weren’t telling them joyful news right away to shield them from the chance of miscarriage, it feels wrong to jump in with bad news as soon as a miscarriage happens. On the other hand, they’d likely have something useful to say. I haven’t decided. Christina is going to tell her mom, but not her dad.

All in all, we’ll have had a little over a week of expecting to become new parents. Parenting how-to books are still in the mail right now, expected to arrive soon. Some have already arrived. The Mayo Clinic guide to a healthy pregnancy has a chapter on miscarriages, and one line in there says that if you do try again, it won’t be as care-free or innocent a feeling of joy and anticipation anymore. You just have to try to not let the painful memories unduly influence your future behavior. Very natural, I suppose, but I suspect it’ll be tough to implement.

I wanted to write a dad blog, something to show people, later, once we were ok making the pregnancy public knowledge. A project of excitement. Maybe I will, later. I think I’d still like to. For now, I have to put this away.