A helping hand

I was nervous about my psychology appointment. What will he think of me? Am I grieving correctly? Am I just heartless in the fact that I haven't cried on over a week now?
I'm not sure if I mentioned, but I managed to turn up 24 hours early to the appointment. I know I've got a lot of my mind with thinking about the appointment, wondering how my health is since the miscarriage, thinking about my lost Baby, worrying about work. But still I felt like quite an idiot.
This morning I decided to try and clear my head first. I parked in the furthest corner of the hospital car park and walked in. Of course the rain teamed down at that very moment and my mac decided to not be waterproof anymore... But it was refreshing and calming.
I got there and let the receptionist know I was here and they went through to notify the psychologist.
His name is Paul, he is middle aged with a kind face. He appears like quite a scientist with a knitted tank top over his shirt but a hint of a more relaxed side with a friendship bracelet or at least some woven band on his wrist.
The room was the same room I was in on Monday for my iron infusion, so I am getting used to the setting now and it was quite familiar. It had, however, been set up slightly differently. There was 2 chairs that previously were pushed up with their backs against the wall with a small coffee inbetween. Now these chairs were slightly angled towards each other in a more open and conversational way. A bit more informal and less clinical.
I thought he might ask questions but he just sat there quietly and kind of gestured towards me as if to say "go on".
Where do you start? The beginning usually. It's just that my beginning is literally at the beginning of my life.
I told him I had previously had a low spell when I suffered from anxiety and depression and that I was worried I might fall there again.
I explained what happened and why I might have struggled in the past. Really it all stems to feeling I missed out on a lot of life with my health and struggling to find acceptance for my lot.
I then told him everything from the build up to trying to have a family with my health and medication changes, the struggle to get pregnant with a year and a half of trying, that being pregnant was my prayers answered and somehow it figured a switch with acceptance for my body. Then on to the tricky subject of the loss. I cried. At least the grief is still there, somewhere.
He listened and added a few little comments here and there. "How did that make you feel?".
After everything was out and aired he said to be honest he had spotted no warning markers or red flags during our talk. He didn't feel I needed to book a follow up but I was to know that his for was always open and he's only at the end of the phone.
That was reassuring.
One thing he said was "grief isn't measured in the number of tears". So I wasn't to feel bad for not crying. That there are others forms of expressing grief and I seemed to be quite proactive and drew from my past experiences to see what worked then to help me keep going and what might help me now.
I felt quite drained afterwards. I bought a coffee and millionaires shortbread from the hospital café before I went on to work.
I'm glad I did this. It helped me see I'm doing well but am also reflective in what has happened.
I just need to keep on as I'm doing and I can't go too far wrong.