I realized I’ve been pretty pessimistic in my posts this week… and I guess it’s for good reason.
September 10. Today would have been the due date for our child.
Although I didn’t carry past 8 weeks, I know the pregnancy was real, and that I was due to deliver our baby today. I was pregnant at one time and I lost the baby.
After I miscarried, when I went in for my tests to figure out what was going on, I asked my Doctor over and over, “I really was pregnant, right? Are you SURE I was pregnant?”
Even though I proved it to myself time and time again through several HPTs, I needed a Doctor to tell me for real.
The two responses I received were somewhere along the lines of:
From my Nurse: “Oh, yes, honey, you just miscarried before we could monitor it.”
From my Doctor: “You were pregnant but lost the baby. We need to figure out why.”
I’ll never forget the feeling of relief… as crazy as that sounds. The pregnancy was real… and an actual medical professional told me so. I wasn’t imagining things, I really HAD gotten pregnant. I actually conceived – I didn’t just dream up all of those positive pregnancy tests I had shoved in front of Mr. D’s disbelieving eyes.
But, I lost the baby, damn it. My dream-come-true… okay, OUR dream-come true… was stripped from our hands. I still can’t completely comprehend it.
Nine months later, we are still trying to figure out why I couldn’t carry the baby, and why it’s been so hard to conceive again.
We don’t have the answers to either of those, but we will someday.
I have faith.