To borrow a title from Dooce, but I couldn't think of a more fitting title. In early January I found out I was pregnant. We were very excited. As a nurse I have stats on miscarriages running through the back of my head, but as we approached 8 weeks, I felt that we had made it through the last 2 months and we were so excited and started to tell people.
I had my first doctor's appointment at 10 weeks. So far I had some uncomfortable symptoms of pregnancy, but nothing to miserable and I was excited to be nearing the end of my first trimester. We had started looking around at cribs and making plans. We would have a September baby and a 3 month old at Christmas. It would be my parent's first grandchild and Mr. M's mother's 15th.
Mr. M. came with me to my appointment. I knew at 10 weeks we should hear a heartbeat and we were excited to hear it together. The doctor couldn't find a heartbeat with the Doppler, but that is not unusual, so we went over to have an ultrasound. There is no heartbeat. It appears that the baby stopped developing at 6 weeks, but my body still thought I was pregnant. I choose to induce a miscarriage this weekend. And now it feels so empty.
It is empty, but not without hope. I am still so blessed. I have a wonderful husband, I have supportive friends and family. Both my husband and me have secure jobs, we have a church where we are engaged in and comfort in a sovereign God who knows our pain.