I should have had plenty of time to figure out how I am feeling over the weekend - which was supposed to have consisted of 2 fabulous days at our favorite beach getaway, Siesta Key, to celebrate our 4th anniversary, followed by a big family get-together for Easter on Sunday when we would have shared the news of the upcoming new addition.
Instead, we spent the weekend holed up in the house, waiting for the meds I took to help expel our very-much-loved, no-longer-living Baby from my body. Ugh...Sorry if that was too graphic.
This feels like a nightmare that I just can't wake up from. Why would we have thought this time would be any different?
I am convinced there is something they are missing. There has to be! How can we go from progressing well with strong hearbeat to.... just gone? How can it happen every time around 7-8 weeks?
The real sting of it is that I at least partly know the answer. It's me. It is my half-assed uterus, my RH- blood, my PCOS and everything else that they've identified to date that is wrong with me.
We have a lot of thinking to do. We know we want to be parents, whatever it takes! I don't want to give up on having our own baby! Is there a way? But I don't want to do this over and over again, either. A little part of both hubby and me dies along with the baby that we had loved and dreamed over. How many times? I would endure anything if you told me that it would eventually work out, it would ultimately end with tears of joy instead of tears of grief.
But no one can tell me that. And that leaves us here, trying to figure out a way to pick up the pieces and get on with life. Trying to decide what is the next step. A second opinion, certainly. Adoption? Surrogacy? Just not sure. And trying to hold tight to the Hope that has sustained us 'til now.
Without my dear husband, I'd be so lost. He is really keeping me afloat. Thank you, my love.