There’s a longer version of this story, and maybe I’ll feel like telling it later, but right now, I don’t.
Today I went to the doctor for an ultrasound, because I was almost nine weeks pregnant.
Was, being the operative word here.
After several successful betas, and TWO previous ultrasounds that showed a growing, healthy baby with a very strong heartbeat, today we saw a baby that was measuring a week behind.
No more heartbeat.
We knew that was always a possibility, and I’d be lying if I said I’ve been overwhelmed with warm, fuzzy feelings for the last nine weeks.
Instead, I had a growing, lingering, dreadful sensation that something was wrong.
Luckily, I don’t believe in self-fulfilling prophecies. I’ve been down this road before.
I am surprisingly ok. I know there’s nothing I could have done differently to change this outcome. I am a little surprised, only because we had two wonderful ultrasounds in the last few weeks, and the odds were (not, it turns out) in our favor. But then the spotting started, and the panic set in.
Initially I thought, I can’t go through this again. But then this morning, after talking to my nurse, I knew I wasn’t finished. My family is lovely, and whole, but still not complete. We will try again.
We were, and are, very sad. But we’re also so lucky to have each other. We hadn’t even made it home from the doctor’s office before we were laughing.
Mike asked if I wanted to help with the yard work, now that I can get Zika. Then I made him stop for a drink full of caffeine. #silverlinings
Say what you will about using humor as a coping mechanism, but it sure is effective.
But I think it’s much easier this time, because I have Gus, the original rainbow baby. A sweet little boy who came to see me last night while I was laying in bed and said he was going to give me a check-up.
Then he laid his head on my chest for a minute and said, “your heart sounds really good.”
And it is.