Dear Ultrasound Tech

Dear Ultrasound Tech,
      First, let me apologize that I don't know your name. As someone who has played a pivotal role in my life history, I feel like we should be on a first name basis. So, I'm sorry. There are so many things I want to say to you.
    I want to apologize for being angry at you for awhile. I shouldn't have "shot the messenger." It has occurred to me that you have a difficult job. I thought you were always the deliverer of good news. You spend you days saying, "it's a boy!" Or girl. You get to say "congratulations! There's your bundle of joy!" I never thought of the flip side. I never thought about the fact that you are sometimes the first one to notice terrible news. You are the first one to see a growth abnormality or the fact that the little heart has stopped beating. You have this knowledge, but you don't have any authority to relay any of it. You are trained to not let anything show on your face and calmly say you need to get a doctor.
    Thank you for trying to keep your cool and show no emotion as you were searching and trying to get information. I'm sorry I caught on and outed you. I knew something was wrong. I saw the heartbeat bar. I know too much. You calmly said you were sorry and went to get a doctor immediately. I'm sorry I screamed and yelled, but thank you for your calm analysis relayed to our doctor.
     It struck me that on these horrible days, you too, might morn. I wonder if you go home and cry for those patients you see crumble on your table? Do you say prayers for them? Do you debrief with staff after to calm down? I can't imagine it's "everyday stress." It would be a heartless person not to feel something when you end up being the messenger of terrible news.
    I know that I will see you again someday. I will go in to that room again one day. When I do, I don't know if you will remember me. I don't know if I made the same impression on you that you have on me. However, I hope that I can express to you my thanks and admiration for your job. I hope that you will be able to give us good news and we will fade in to the blur of happy parents rather than be imprinted on your mind as the  Grieved. Hope to see you soon.

Warm regards,

Carole (aka the woman who lost her mind in your office)