(will you write the story of them finding out about the miscarriage?)
(Here it is, friend. It’s very clinical and very sad.)
“You’re at least eight weeks,” says the technician with a horrible, grave look on their face. “There should…we should be able to hear a heartbeat by now.”
“Maybe we got the date wrong,” Viktor says, squeezing Yuuri’s hand so tight that it feels like a vice. “Maybe he’s less than–”
“A heartbeat starts at four weeks,” says the technician, and now there’s this pitying tone in their voice, and Yuuri hates it. His hatred for that tone rises in his throat, bile and tears and screams that he has to hold back because he isn’t sure which one would come out if he didn’t. “We’ll need to do some blood tests to be sure, but…it doesn’t look good. I’m sorry.”
The technician, who’s young and awkward and probably doesn’t really know how to deal with the whole situation, sends in a doctor to speak to them. She takes Yuuri’s blood and gives them grief brochures and politely redirects her gaze as Yuuri cries. Viktor’s fingers are shaking and his breath is coming in short, rapid bursts. He lets Yuuri press his face against his shoulder, and holds the brochures with unsteady hands. Yuuri clutches his hands into his stomach, almost beside himself.
“Sometimes these things happen,” the doctor says. “And it’s not because of anything you did or didn’t do. Most of the time, it has to do with chromosomes. Your baby had an incorrect number of chromosomes and couldn’t have survived. And I know that hearing this doesn’t make what you have to go through now any easier–but very often, that’s the case.”
“I was going on five kilometer runs in the morning,” Yuuri whispers into Viktor’s shoulder, ashamed. “Before I–before the test came back positive, I didn’t know–and I know I shouldn’t have, because we were trying, but–”
“It’s very, very unlikely that that had anything to do with it,” says the doctor, shaking her head. “Fetuses are strong, and they can withstand the rigmarole of every day life–it wasn’t your exercise, or a cup of coffee, or even a glass of wine that did this. Exercise during pregnancy is healthy–and if you decide to try again, considering how athletic you and your husband are, I would say that a five kilometer run is a perfectly reasonable amount of daily exercise.”
“When, um…” Viktor sighs, and presses his lips to Yuuri’s head. “When is it safe to…try again?”
“We’ll know within the next few days, but if the blood tests come back with the results I’m expecting, then Yuuri will have to come in for a D and E. Your hormones should return to normal within the next month or so–you’re young, and there usually aren’t complications associated with a miscarriage for people your age. I’d say you’ll probably ovulate again within the next month, and have a period shortly after. After that, you can start trying again–until then, I’d suggest no penetrative sex for at least two weeks. You should also use protection until you’re both ready to try again.
Yuuri nods, feeling raw and strung out. “Is, um…stress…a reason why this sort of thing might happen?”
“The truth is, we don’t know why these things happen most of the time. But you absolutely can’t blame yourself–and you can’t think of this as a failure, or an indication of things to come. Most carriers who experience one miscarriage go on to have perfectly healthy, full-term pregnancies. The odds are in your favor.” The doctor stands up and nods to them. “I’ll leave you alone for a few minutes. I’m very sorry.”
Yuuri and Viktor drive home—Viktor driving, with his hand over Yuuri’s knee, thumb stroking, and Yuuri doesn’t know what to do. So he doesn’t do anything. He follows Viktor upstairs to their condo, pats Makkachin on the way to the bedroom, crawls into bed and lays there.
Viktor comes into the bedroom and lays down with him, and after a long while says, “You should call your parents.”
“I know,” Yuuri whispers. “But I can’t. Not right now.”
“I know,” Viktor whispers. He brushes Yuuri’s hair back, kisses his forehead. “I know.”
Yuuri sniffs, turns his face into his pillow, and presses a hand to his belly. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and even he isn’t sure which of them he’s talking to—Viktor, or the child they’ve just lost.
“I love you,” Viktor whispers back, and Yuuri isn’t exactly sure who he’s addressing, either.