Gone

On Tuesday, we said goodbye to another angel.

We had kept this pregnancy quiet. Played the round of treatment close to the vest. I held back from blogging and sharing. I had to make the decision to move forward with treatment after the October miscarriage very quickly. We began during the first week of November. On December 1st, our test was positive. I believed that this was our miracle baby. The rainbow after the storm. The answer to a million desperate prayers.

Everything was normal. Terrifying and stressful, but normal. No cramping or bleeding. I felt so different from the last time. But every moment was laced with fear that this pregnancy too would end in heartbreak. I watched friends around me announce pregnancies with no trepidation. People with the same due dates shared their news joyfully, while we waited in restrained terror and bitter jealousy that we could not share the same news. Early scans and blood tests are a special kind of hell reserved for people who deal with infertility. While other couples think of names and plan nurseries, we wait for the next test result and next ultrasound to give us a flicker of hope that things are ok.

On December 29th, nearly a month after our positive test, we knew there was a problem. We could see our sweet baby in the ultrasound, but there wasn't a heartbeat. Baby was measuring small for 8 weeks. We took a wait and see approach and hoped the next week would give us a miracle. We would know at 6:45 am on Monday.

Sunday night, the pain began. A tearing and ripping feeling that took my breath away all through the night. I clutched my already showing stomach in desperation and sobbed while my husband held me. The spotting started, and I knew. I told baby that if they needed to go home, to go back to Heaven, then they could go and we would be okay. And I knew that our angel was gone. Nine weeks gone in the blink of an eye.

Monday morning's ultrasound confirmed the bleed and the start of a miscarriage. It is almost surely due to genetic and developmental abnormalities. Which feels like the most meaningless reason ever for two people who want a baby more than anything in the world to lose one. Another one. The second in three months. It is too much to bear. Too much to handle.

The worst of it is over physically. The pain was beyond anything I could imagine. I have no words to describe what happened. I only know that if my husband had not been there for every second of that experience, holding me up and keeping me from slipping away with the unimaginable pain, I would not have been able to make it through. Nobody prepares you for what it will be like to lose your baby after it has started developing and you have seen it on an ultrasound. Nothing prepares you for that kind of pain.

I think right now I am too numb to process everything. I am grateful for powerful painkillers helping me to get through these few very painful days. But I know when those wear off I will be angry and confused and utterly broken again.

August 11th should have been the day our dreams came true. Now I'm not sure what it will be. I'm hoping we'll have a new dream in progress by then. But the dream we lost on January 6th will never be forgotten.