I thought long and hard about whether to post about this. Even though I’ve discussed everything on here from ovulation to childbirth to the death of my mom, this somehow feels more personal—and certainly more raw. I still don’t know if I’m making the right decision, but when it comes down to it, I want to share. I don’t want to sit in silence with it.
Several weeks ago I got a positive pregnancy test. It didn’t take very long at all—in fact, we had barely started trying. I was so excited. I couldn’t wait to come on here in a few weeks and tell you all how easy it was the second time around. Everyone likes happy endings, right?
I was much more laid back with this pregnancy. I even had a cup of full-caff coffee every morning! I was determined not to be an anxious wreck for 9 months again. And when some of my pregnancy symptoms started to decrease slightly, I barely gave it a second thought. Every pregnancy is different after all. I wasn’t worried. This little soul came to me so fast that it obviously wanted to be born. And so it would be. End of story.
I saw the midwife at what I thought was seven weeks along. She said everything seemed to be progressing normally. She suggested I get a dating scan to make sure she had my due date right. I made an appointment for that, but the soonest they could get me in was in two weeks.
Those weeks passed uneventfully. This past Wednesday I went in for the scan. As soon as the tech placed the wand on my belly, she said, “I don’t see anything.” Right then I knew something was terribly wrong. Then she told me that maybe I was just earlier than I thought and she would have to do an internal scan.
Finally, after waiting a long time for the doctor to arrive, she did the internal scan. The room was dead silent. I couldn’t even see the screen because they had it facing away from me. The only things I heard the doctor say the whole time were, “measure that” and “that’s not a fetal pole.”
Then he told me that he did see a pregnancy present, but it only measured 4.5 weeks. I was supposed to be nine weeks along by that point. He said that he was 99% certain that I had miscarried, but never expelled the embryo. Then he advised me to come back in a week to be sure. I knew in my heart that there was no way I could only be 4.5 weeks pregnant, but he said that it was worth a week wait to be 100% sure. So I scheduled another appointment for the following week.
I later called my midwife, who suggested I get blood work and have my hcg levels tested. If the levels dropped over 72 hours, that almost certainly meant miscarriage. I went on Friday for the first draw and the second draw will be tomorrow morning. By tomorrow afternoon, I should have a pretty good answer. By Tuesday, I will hopefully know for certain.
So here I sit, wondering how I’m going to get through the next few days. Wondering how I’m going to process the news that I will, with 99% certainty, receive tomorrow afternoon. There is a 99% percent chance that I will drink a huge glass of wine tomorrow night. A 99% chance that I will be wondering, for a long time to come, how this life inside of me could have died and I never even realized it. A 99% chance that I will be wondering how to heal my broken heart.