Becoming a Statistic...

This day was much harder than I ever expected. It was a day that was supposed to be joyful...and exciting... and happy...and it was not.

Today I became a statistic...one of the 1 in 4 women who have had a miscarriage. It is surreal to type that - and will probably continue to be for a while. Right now I'm still working on accepting that this is part of my story now.

Today we had what was supposed to be our first prenatal appointment with our second pregnancy. Entering into the appointment I was nervous. I was trying to brace myself for the worst, knowing that nothing with pregnancy is ever a given. But I was still assuming that everything was okay. Why wouldn't it be? I have been nauseous. I have been tired beyond tired. I have had a crazy strong sense of smell. I have been hormonal. I have been - and I suppose still am - pregnant.

But when it came time to look at our baby, it was immediately clear something was wrong. I should have been nearly 9 weeks along. The baby that was there was not a 9 week sized baby. It wasn't even a 8...or a 7 week sized baby. And even when we stretched the numbers to try to make them work, they didn't line up. We watched and we waited for a flicker of a heartbeat, but there was nothing there. Our excitement and joy shattered in an instant.

I felt like I was dreaming. I felt like I was falling off a cliff, scrambling to grab hold of something...with nothing to hang on to. I sat in shock while the nurse talked through the next steps, in disbelief that this was my life. I held back my tears as best I could...but didn't do a good job.

The nurse left the room and I crumbled into Jeromy's shoulder and sobbed. I sobbed for the baby I already loved. I sobbed for the dreams and plans that were instantaneous destroyed. I sobbed for myself. I sobbed for Jeromy. I sobbed because I'm not going to get my Christmas baby. I sobbed for the loss of hope that I felt in that moment. And I sob now.

Somehow I made it out of that office. I made it out to my car. I made it home. I slept and I cried. I watched stupid TV. I cried some more. We went to a radiology appointment later in the afternoon, which just felt cruel. I laid in a dark room, flashing back to our 20 week ultrasound appointment with Linnea. A time so filled with wonder...with amazement at seeing our beautiful, healthy baby.

This ultrasound was way less fun. We sat in silence while the tech took measurements. We knew. We knew that she wasn't finding anything different. When it was all done, she walked through the results. Everything was there...but the baby was measuring 6 weeks, 1 day. No heartbeat. Not viable.

So that's that.

Later, a conversation with the nurse practitioner about next steps. I will have a D&C in the nearish future. We will take it day by day. We will try to hope for the best. And we will continue to grieve for our baby.

I don't know who will read this. And truth be told, I didn't write it for other people. I wrote it for me. To process. To grieve. To remember, though I wish I could forget.

One day at a time...