Tomorrow

Tomorrow, April 13, was the due date of our first child, in 2009. Had it not been for the miscarriage we suffered, we would have had a little boy or girl a whole year before Noelle was born. I know we would have had Noelle anyway, but most likely we wouldn't have had her on March 11 of the next year. It's so weird to think about "what might have been."

I think about that pregnancy a lot. In fact, I was thinking about it for about the first 10 weeks of this pregnancy each and every day. I was so much more worried about this one than Noelle's. I had this overwhelming bad feeling that I was going to lose this baby and that we would have to endure the loss again. After hearing the baby's super strong heart beat twice and seeing the baby once on the monitor, I am starting to just now feel, at almost 12 weeks, that this baby is going to happen and we will be holding him or her in our arms in just about 6 months.

It's so hard to explain to people who have never experienced one just what a miscarriage does to you emotionally. I mark it has a turning point in my life. I will never forget the moment we found out about it, and all of the days following. I will never forget the weeks of crying and the emotional turmoil I went through. I will never forget the death of that dream and how badly my heart ached for the baby I would never hold...at least never hold here on Earth.

To some it may seem silly to be so attached to something you never saw, never knew, never kissed...but for 10 whole weeks, that baby was mine, and I was a mama. All of a sudden, the baby was gone and I was nothing.

Everything changed, of course, when Noelle was on her way. In many ways she has healed the hole in our hearts and filled it with such love, joy, happiness, and bliss. However, in other ways, knowing her has made the grief even stronger, because we are so aware of what we missed the first time...and what we would miss if we ever had to experience it again.

So, April 13 will come and go. No one will probably recognize it as any other day except the last business day to mail your taxes. It's special to me, though...the mama, and that's all that really matters.

3 Years

It's been 3 years.

Three years ago this day, we were excited to go to our first baby doctor appointment together. We weren't too nervous. We didn't know we had a reason to be. We were just excited and ready to meet our doctor and possibly see the little peanut on the ultrasound screen.

Everything changed so quickly. I still hear the words and see Dr. Ertle's face as she expressed her sympathy and disappointment for us. We lost the baby. Still...so haunting.

In some ways, it hurts more now than it did then. Before, I didn't know what I was missing. I had never been a mommy before. Now, I am so aware of the profound love you feel for your child, and my heart aches for the one I never held.

I suppose the biggest lesson I learned throughout the whole process is that time heals all wounds. I'm not saying it doesn't hurt and that there's not a scar...and that a little part of me doesn't die with every story of another woman's miscarriage or pregnancy loss...but I am saying that I am no longer raw with emotion and I can talk openly about the pain I felt then and the peace I feel now. I can thank time and faith....and if I am being honest...I will give about 75% of the credit to time and 25% to faith. I'd be lying if I said my faith wasn't shaken, damaged, and bruised through it all...but I'm working on healing that, too.

So, to our first baby, who we loved before we ever knew we lost...we still think about you all the time. And you have the coolest little sister in the world.

The Day That Never Was

Two years ago today was the due date for our first pregnancy. That pregnancy ended in miscarriage 10 weeks into it, and we haven't been the same since.

Did our lives end? No. Did they change forever? Yes. Will this day always have a tinge of sadness, even when it is beautifully lit with spring? Maybe. I don't know yet.

What I have to remember is that without the experience of our loss, Noelle most likely would not have come to be...or at least not yet. I highly doubt we would have had a child in April and then turned around and had a baby the following March...though I suppose you would never know.

Baby #1, who we believed also was a girl, is playing and celebrating her 2nd birthday somewhere.

October 15th

October 15th is the national day to remember pregnancy losses of all kinds. Seeing as how it is just a couple of days away, I find myself with some thoughts and emotions.

With all of the joy surrounding Noelle and the fulfillment she has brought to our lives, I must admit that I don't think about the miscarriage much. I don't know if I have just gradually moved on or if I have just shoved it to the furthest depths of my mind, but either way, I don't wake up thinking about it nor cry myself to sleep the way I used to.

The thought that overwhelms me the most right now is if it ever happened again, I know it would be 10 times harder than before because I know firsthand what having a baby is like....and I would know the ultimate loss so much more than when I had never had children. I am trying not to dwell on the negative....but it darn near killed me the first time around...I can't do it again.

I guess the point is it darn near killed me. It didn't kill me. I am stronger because of it. Our lives are defined not by what happens to us, but how we handle what happens to us.

So-- October 15th...I will remember our first little one who we never got to meet. I will think about all the other couples who have experienced the loss of a pregnancy...which is a loss that is not easily understood by others, as I learned the hard way 2 years ago. Thankfully....we are moving on, together as a family of 3.

Gravida 2

I have been delaying this post. Maybe because I have been "busy." Maybe because I have "forgotten." Maybe because it's all still painful and it's hard to talk about. Ding ding ding, we have a winner!

Two days ago, it was April 13. April 13, 2009 was to be our due date from the first pregnancy. I remember how I dreaded the approach of that day like it would surely be the end of the world. It happened to be the Monday after Easter in 2009, so I remember bawling like a baby during the Easter Mass and just praying that somehow I would be put out of my misery. No such luck. I slapped on a happy face and played "find your hidden Easter basket" in Luke's grandmother's yard like a good girl.

What a difference a year makes.

This year, I spent Easter staring at my sleeping baby girl, praising God for the gift He gave me in Noelle rather than cursing him for what He took away (and we didn't have to hunt for our baskets this year, either). April 13 came and went with little fanfare, though I thought about the child that we never got to meet quite frequently throughout the day.

We always had a feeling the baby was a girl. Was she really, or was "she" a "he?" Would he or she have looked like Noelle? We would have been hosting a first birthday party for the child. It's all pretty crazy to think about.

At my last OB appointment on March 9, Luke looked at my chart on the computer while we were waiting for Dr. Ertel to tell us when we would be induced. He quietly said, "Hmmm. Gravida 2." I said, "What's that mean?"

"Gravida means how many pregnancies you have had."

I realized in that moment that I have actually been pregnant twice. It's not that I didn't know that, but to be quite honest, the miscarriage had been put in the back of my mind once we had good reassurance that "Baby E" was going to make it. We had been so focused on the new baby that we had stopped thinking about the first baby that we unfortunately lost in September 2009. I immediately felt guilty and ashamed.

But, through it all, I have realized that where there is great sorrow, there can be great joy. I have seen that God's promise is true...that He has plans for us, plans not to harm us. I have learned that everything happens for a reason, and it is all part of the plan.

For whatever reason, it wasn't our time to be parents a year ago. I think of it as "Baby Lay-Away." We got our baby...not as quickly as we wanted...and we paid a significant price...but when she was finally ours, she was so worth the wait.

Deep breath.

Today was supposed to be your birthday. I was supposed to have met your sweet face for the first time. Of course, there would have been a strong likelihood that you would have greeted the world a few days or weeks early, or there was a chance that I could still be sitting here, waiting on you to arrive. Regardless, today was supposed to be your birthday.

I first heard the date, April 13th, nearly eight months ago at my first doctor's appointment. In just a matter of seconds, a nurse was able to determine when you would be ready to make your entrance into the world. With a smile, I thought to myself, "Wow, April 13th seems so far away." 

April 13th has taken a long time to get here. There were days after we found out that we lost you that seemed twice as long as regular days. I cried a lot, because I couldn't imagine never  meeting you. I couldn't imagine never holding you. I couldn't imagine April 13th actually arriving with you.

Here I sit, at the completion of this journey, and I think about the days behind me. I know I am stronger in many ways, but I still feel this deep pain....this deep bruise....and I can't do anything to make it feel better. I think this is the way it will always be, and that is OK. Why would I want to forget you? Why would I want to just make it all "go away?"

I have worked really hard to make myself healthy. I have taken care of myself. Through it all, I have thought about you...and about what I could have done to have prevented what happened. I know in my heart that there was nothing I could do, but I can't help but want to be in the best health I can be for "the next time." 

I think about what you look like from time to time. Do you have dark hair? Is it curly? Do you have your father's nose (oh no!)? I can't even imagine how beautiful you are. 

I wish I could have walked this road with you. I wish I could have carried you through to your birthday. I wish I could celebrate you and talk about you and show you off to the world. I wish so much, but that is all they are....wishes. 

Above all else, I wish I could have watched you grow up....told you to eat your vegetables, played with you in the yard, fixed your hair in pigtails, given you advice about boys, helped you with your homework....but for now I will just say Happy Birthday and I love you.

Love,

Your mother

Thoughts

I have a really, really busy mind, so it is really therapeutic to me to release some thoughts every now and then (thus, this blog!). Anyway, I am watching Dancing with the Stars and secretly wish I could dance like that! :-)

With April 13 approaching, the would-be due date of our first child, I really have been thinking so much about everything...and I started reading a book called "Full Term." It is about a woman who suffered 2 miscarriages and then delivered twins at 5 months and they died. Her book is about her journey to actually finish a pregnancy....it is both encouraging and saddening to me at the same time. BUT....I am not defeated and am actually quite inspired for the future. I just like reading about other women who have been through the same, if not worse, than me. I need to feel grateful in place of feeling sorry for myself, and realizing that other women have gone through SO much worse really helps give me a reality check.

In a completely unrelated note, I made creole chicken for the first time tonight. It was soooo amazingly good. Another amazingly good part about this night is the Concannon's treats I purchased this afternoon. I love their chocolate cupcakes! Thankfully Luke doesn't care for "all the sugar...." so MORE for me!

I counted, and only 8 more Mondays in the school year. I can't wait until Summer!

Weeping Cherry Blossom

I have always loved cherry blossoms. I don't know why, really. I guess when I went to Washington, D.C. as a high school sophomore on a school trip, the infamous cherry blossoms were in bloom, and I noted how beautiful and sweet and innocent they looked. They only bloom during a very short time period, and they go away for the rest of the year. For some reason, when I was on my trip, the blossoms were out, and I felt lucky to see them. 

Fast forward about 8 years. I have tendency to go down the baby aisles when I am at Target. I have been doing this for a solid year or so. Somewhere within the past year, I spotted a cherry blossom nursery set at Target. I told myself that when I had a little girl, her nursery would be decorated in cherry blossoms...the ultimate symbol of beauty and sweetness (what every little girl should be). 

When I found out we were having a baby, I instantly felt like she was a girl. In fact, I think I was almost willing her to be a girl. Not that I wouldn't have loved my child if he were a boy, but I was really feeling a girl. Luke felt it, too. I had dreams in which I would see her sweet face. She would have dark hair like me. I was already making plans to have the nursery decorated in cherry blossoms. In fact, when we moved into this house in May, I bought a vase of silk cherry blossoms to decorate the office (which would have been the nursery). It's like every little dream of mine was coming true...

Until September 12, when our world came crashing down. There would be no little girl...there would be no cherry blossoms. The past two weeks have been hell...to put it lightly. I have fluctuated between being calm and sane to emotional and inconsolable. I have blamed myself, I have blamed others (which is silly because NO ONE can be blamed for what happened). I have questioned my faith, and at the same time, I have been reassured of my faith. I have been up and down an emotional roller coaster, and I have just been begging for something or someone to stop the ride so I can calmly get off. 

This past weekend, I reached a place of peace that I had not been able to reach. Seth & Abel decided to organize a little ceremony for our child...and they invited our families to come to our house today after church so they could all present us with a tree...a cherry blossom tree. In fact, we got a weeping cherry blossom tree. The symbolism with the "weeping" part of the tree is just perfect. What a perfect representation of our child, who we both felt was a girl. I cried, but not in an incontrollable way. I was happy. I was relieved. No longer would I have to worry that our child would be forgotten...by us or by our families. Our beautiful little tree, strategically placed outside the window of the office that would have been the nursery, will remind us every single day that we created a child. When our families and friends come over, they will see the tree and know that it is in remembrance of our baby we never got to meet. Even when we go on to have more children (which I am confident that we will), we will never, ever forget our first. We can explain to our children what the tree represents. The tree is a part of our family, as silly as that sounds. 

I feel better than I have in two weeks. I know that I am not "over this." I can never be  "over it." What an insensitive thing to expect. However, I have renewed hope that we will have beautiful children one day, and I know now, more than ever, that our first child will always be a part of our lives. 

Bittersweet Reflection

I just went back through and re-read several of my blogs from when I knew (or thought) I was pregnant. I use that terminology because right now I am feeling so betrayed by my pregnancy...by my own body. I can't believe that our child never made it past the fertilized egg stage...that she wasn't growing each day like we thought...that she wasn't even visible to the human eye the way we thought. It upsets me because when I read back through my posts, I was so excited...I was believing all the signs my body was giving me...the nausea, the cravings, the belly swelling. My body was tricking me. My body was telling me that I was responsible for the growth and development of a child, but in reality, I lost the child a long time prior to seeing that haunting blank ultrasound. Luke talked to my belly...he kissed it. And that was all it was...my belly. Not our baby. 

I met with Lisa and my mom last night. We had dinner, and we talked about how I was feeling about all of this. Lisa has first-hand experience with losing a child, even though she lost Luke #1 after 7 months of pregnancy. I can't even imagine...my heart can't even wrap around that kind of sorrow. I was a mere 2.5 months pregnant. Lisa had traveled the journey so much longer than me. 

I felt better after talking to my mom and Lisa. Pain shared is pain halved...so I am trying to just express my feelings to those who care about me so that they can shoulder some of the pain for me...I don't mean to ruin anyone's day or make anyone feel sorry for me...but I am currently accepting all the prayers and all the sympathy (even better, empathy) I can get. Each person I talk to about this has something new, insightful, and sincere to say. I am learning from the experiences of others, and I am looking, each minute I am awake and even while I am dreaming, to the day when I meet our children face to face. 

Starting Over

I haven't written since a week ago. I thought I would never want to pull this website up again. However, as I sit here in my pajamas with my hospital band on my wrist, I have found the urge, and the need, to document what's been happening this week....what happened today....and what we hope will happen in the future.

Last Friday, the wind was knocked out of us. No one could see this coming. When I went to my first doctor's appointment, I had no idea I would come out with an appointment for a D & C the following Friday. I didn't even know what a D & C was. All I knew was that something horrible had happened, and I was supposed to just suck it up and deal with it. 

Saturday, instead of the "family cookout" we had planned to reveal the news of our baby to our family, Luke and I spent much of the day by ourselves. We were grief-stricken and lonely. We wanted to see people, but at the same time, we didn't. Luke's family still got together at Abel & Elizabeth's. This didn't bother me really...but it just reminded me that of course life will go on for others. I know they felt for us, and I know that they didn't know what to do to make it better, but it just definitely proved that this world does not stop turning, even when babies die.

Saturday evening, Abe & E and Seth & Liz (and Gus) came to see us. I was happy to see them, and I think Luke was even happier. For the first time, I saw him smile and laugh. To be honest, I think he temporarily forgot about our situation, as much as you can temporarily forget something like this. We played Taboo, ate pizza, talked, and things were quite normal. On two occasions, seeing my beautiful nephew was too much to bear, and I needed some time alone. I cried in the bathroom by myself, similar to the way I cried when I first saw those two lines on the pregnancy test. I kick myself now, telling myself that the next time, IF there is a next time, I will never cry or question God's timing...and I will jump for joy just for being given the slight chance of becoming a mother...even though now I know that it might not end up as planned. 

Sunday morning, I woke up early and went outside to my patio. In the still and quiet of the early morning hours, I was able to listen to the wind...the birds...my heart. I was alone with my thoughts until I heard little hands on the door, and a little voice talking about Aunt Ashley. My beautiful Gus was standing there, and Liz wasn't far behind. I've never met a more beautiful soul than Liz. Now, more than ever, I wish that I was more like her, especially given that beautiful baby bump she's got that I will never get (at least during this pregnancy). She sat next to me and cried for me, which is more than I could have ever asked for. Her empathy really wrapped itself around me, and she could understand things that others couldn't.

We went to church, which I know was a good thing, but it was very difficult to get through. The music, the message, the children in the pews...it was all too much. I found myself sobbing at one point, making eye contact with a young boy who probably thought I was crazy and scary. It's almost as if God was reaching inside of me, pulling out my pain, and the sobbing was part of the exit process. 

I had a shower for Jenn I needed to get to in Muncie, and it was difficult to drive an hour by myself. However, I did it, because I knew that my friends were counting on me to be there. I walked in, saw my dear friends, and pretended to be OK. I broke down a tiny bit, once I relived the nightmare of the blank ultrasound. We got through the shower, and I managed to leave without reliving it again. I knew they would understand.

I went to work Monday through Thursday (crying the whole way on Monday morning). I managed to not say a word to anyone, except to my principal to tell him why I was missing a Friday and a Monday, taking advance sick days. He probably wouldn't have questioned me anyway, but I felt the need to mention what had happened...so as to provide an excuse if he saw me more sad than usual, less talkative, or acting out of the ordinary. I didn't want to be caught in a weak moment by my boss, giving him the opportunity to ask the cliched, "What's wrong," and thus sending me into a tailspin. I wanted the control, so I told him. Which, as you could imagine, was awkward.

I had a meeting for Section 125 (benefits my teacher's union provides at additional cost) on Monday. How ironic, really. The plan the man was trying to sell me was short term disability, where if I were to go on maternity leave and not have enough days, I would start getting a partial paycheck 15 days after my sick days would run out. I would also get a reimbursement for labor/delivery. I don't know why, but I was sold on this plan at an additional $17 per pay. I thought, "Why not?" I had to answer three questions, and the third one was, "Are you currently pregnant?" I had to answer "no." I wasn't. This plan doesn't accept pre-existing conditions, so he told me that I couldn't get "diagnosed as pregnant" before December 1 of this year. Diagnosed? It was a funny way of putting it, I guess. Basically, I can't get pregnant before December 1 in order to reap these benefits. You can read more about getting pregnant again below.

Also, Monday, I was driving home from school, and I passed the Hamilton Town Center in Noblesville. I had this desire to stop in and spend money, so I did. I do suffer/benefit from retail therapy, and I just need to go into Bath & Body Works. It made me feel better, and, you know, for the first time...I will say that I deserved it. I had recently ordered $50 worth of maternity clothes from OldNavy.com, and I knew I would be immediately returning those things...so I might as well replace it with an equal amount of Bath & Body Works, right? 

Luke has had a difficult time this past week. I don't think that guys share this kind of personal information as openly as women do. We decided to send an e-mail to many of our friends, explaining what had happened, since none of them knew of our baby in the first place. We knew we were taking a chance that absolutely no one would write us back, and we would feel even more alone than we already did, but we really had nothing to lose. So, we sent the e-mail and, within hours, we got some BEAUTIFUL, amazing responses that brought tears to our eyes. Luke even received a phone call from a couple of male friends, and this helped him, I think. We got a couple of cards this week from family friends, and we also got some phone calls from family. We feel the grace we have been granted...and we feel the prayers. I also got some beautiful flowers from my friends at school. Everyone was very jealous :-)

Basically, to get to the point of this entry, I had the D & C today. I was scared, and even cried last night for one of the few times all week. It probably didn't help that I was watching Grey's Anatomy and watching people die in surgery. We went in at 7:30 today, and we were home by about 11:30 (including a trip to Meijer for groceries). The nurses and doctor were so amazingly nice. I was very impressed with the whole Community North experience. The operating room did look just like what you see on TV...and it was about 40 degrees in there (maybe not, but it was COLD). I remember talking about teaching, and then I was out. When I woke up, a nice lady was saying my name and taking care of me in recovery. Not long after, I saw my beautiful husband, and we were allowed to go home much quicker than we thought. Again, all the people we have worked with have been just wonderful. 

The doctor explained to Luke that everything went well...there was nothing to be worried about as far as anything long term. So now we are faced with the question, "Where do we go from here?" I have this urge to be pregnant again. However, I am scared to death....scared of this happening again. Everyone I have spoken to and everything I have read says that with only one miscarriage, your risk of having another one is the same as having one in the first place. Everyone says that it is common, and that we will go on to have many babies. I don't know when (or even if) that will happen for us, but I do know that I will be doing everything I can to make myself as healthy as possible the next time around. I want to give this child the best chance to possible to make it in this world. 

I wouldn't say that either one of us are healed, emotionally or physically. I know that it is a process, and we might ever be completely "over it." However, I am choosing to see the silver lining in these clouds, and I know that good days are to come. I also know that my friends and family are wonderfully amazing, and I couldn't have picked a better man to spend the rest of my life with. 

Devastation

I can't believe I'm writing this, possibly to an audience that might never see it. However, I've documented the last two months of our child's life, and I can't just leave the book open and the page unturned.

"There's the amniotic sac,  but there's no baby."

Those words churn my dinner in my stomach and are keeping me awake at this hour of the night. There's no baby. There's no baby. There's no baby. 

For 10 weeks (5 of those weeks, I was aware of my pregnant status), I took care of myself the way any expectant mother would. I turned down the alcohol, switched from Diet Coke to water, exercised, ate vegetables, and took the prenatal vitamin every morning, in hopes that all these measures would give us the best chance possible for a healthy, happy baby. Little did we know that the baby was either never there, or gone long before I even knew I was pregnant. The little person Luke was speaking to and kissing each morning before school was not the "raisin" or "seahorse" we thought she was. She wasn't there. She wasn't an inch long like we thought she was. She didn't have the arm and leg buds with tiny fingers like we thought she did. She never had the tail that we jokingly feared would never fall off. We never made it that far into the pregnancy, but we didn't know until Friday, September 12, 2008. 

I felt my belly grow and my body change. I was ready to wear the maternity clothes. More than anything, I was ready to tell our family and friends the incredible news that God had chosen us to be parents. I was ready to tell school that my maternity leave would be beginning around April 13, 2009. I was ready to go to the doctor appointments and learn about our baby's latest developments. For as unready as I was on August 11th, I had sure made a drastic turn around and found myself in the "more than ready" category up until yesterday at 4:00.

Yesterday was to be the first day we met with the doctor. I was running a few minutes late for the appointment due to having to leave at 2:30 and be there by 3:30. However, Luke met me at the office and we walked in together. I was surprised and excited when the receptionist told me we would be having an ultrasound. An ultrasound! We would get to see and possibly hear our baby! We would have a picture to show our parents when we gave them the news. 

We were brought back to the exam room, made small talk with the nurse, and we waited for Dr. Ertel to come in. I was instantly calmed by Dr. Ertel's youth and easy-going personality. I was excited that she would be the one seeing us through this incredible journey. We talked about the Colts and med school. Everything was normal.

Dr. Ertel explained that my lab results were normal, that I seemed healthy, and that she had no concerns. She performed the exam and then turned on the ultrasound machine. This was the moment we had been waiting for. 

When the screen came on, she pointed out my uterus. It looked, to my untrained eye, empty, but I didn't want to say anything yet. Who can read those ultrasound things anyway? I knew any minute our little peanut would be on the screen, and all would be OK. 

She moved the instrument around and around, searching. It was silent in the room, and at this point, I became worried. I looked at Dr. Ertel's face, and it said it all. I could tell something was wrong. After a few heavy moments of silence, she stopped moving the instrument and brought the screen closer so we could see what there wasn't to see...

She pointed out the amniotic sac. More specifically, she identified the empty amniotic sac. I am not an expert in ultrasound technology, I but I knew that I should be seeing something by now. Dr. Ertel was genuine and sympathetic as she told us, "This isn't going to be a normal pregnancy for you. I'm not seeing a baby." 

I took a painful look at Luke, who was shocked and immediately asking questions as to why and how this could have happened. All I was thinking was that there was no way this was happening to us. The doctor termed this situation as a "missed abortion" miscarriage. Basically, it's a miscarriage that hasn't yet happened on its own. After looking it up on the Internet, I found that it is when the embryo has actually died, but the sac has remained and not been expelled by the body yet. She explained that this "expulsion process" could happen any day now, and she was surprised that my body had held onto the sac for 10 weeks since the embryo was gone a long time ago. 

She left the room so we could have some time to ourselves. At this point, Luke and I found ourselves holding onto and holding up each other. I didn't want to completely lose control of my emotions with the nursing staff waiting right around the corner, so I tried to hold at least some of myself together as I put my Colts socks back on and moved from the exam table to the bench Luke was sitting on. I was no longer a patient. I was no longer an expectant mother.

When Dr. Ertel came back in, she had two documents. One was the cliched brochure about how to "deal" with your early pregnancy loss. The other document was describing the D & C procedure that Dr. Ertel wanted me to have done within the next week. D & C stands for dilation and curetting, which basically means that instead of waiting on my body to just miscarry the tissue and amniotic sac on its own, which can be a physically painful and emotionally distressing thing, the doctor would rather the D & C surgically take care of removing "what's left." My first thought when she explained what would be happening was, "kind of like an abortion." I guess it would be similar, but remember, there's no baby. 

All the information was overwhelming, and I found myself just nodding and trying to smile and not make the doctor feel too horrible. I could tell she was feeling for us, but I also know that in her mind, she has seen this happen before, and she knows the science behind it all. We are not the first couple to experience this tragedy, and we won't be the last. All we can pray is that this will be our last. 

The D & C will be scheduled for Friday. We could do it sooner, but I don't feel comfortable taking a day off during ISTEP testing. So, next week, I will walk into my classroom, throw away the desk planner that has my due date written on it, and pretend that nothing ever happened. I will administer the ISTEP test, and then Friday, I will go and officially "end" the pregnancy that really, in all reality, never began in the first place. I will return the pregnancy exercise video I bought and never opened, and I will send back the Old Navy clearance maternity clothes I ordered online. We will put away the "What to Expect When You're Expecting" book, and we won't be filling the prescription for prenatal vitamins. Maybe we will keep the Notre Dame onesie we bought for my parents to give the baby "next football season," and I would imagine that we will hang onto the crib we so hastily purchased one week after getting the positive result on the pregnancy test. At least we hadn't set it up yet, and it is safe in the attic. 

Luke and I knew we had a tough night ahead of us. After all, our families were going to be uniting at our home today (Saturday) for the big reveal, and we just couldn't bear the thought of going on as planned. So, we made a painful and silent drive to Muncie, where we stopped at his parents house to make them aware of the third grandchild that they would never meet. When we walked in the door, they knew something was wrong, and Luke was able to verbalize to them what had happened. Though it was uncomfortable to reveal such an intensely personal trauma, we were comforted by their words and even their own tears. 

I knew the more difficult visit would be to my own parents. I am not the most open with them about health issues, and I was nervous enough to tell them that I was pregnant in the first place. When we got to their house, my mom wasn't home yet, and my dad knew something was going on. The 10 minutes we waited for my mom were agonizing for all three of us. I knew my dad was expecting the worst. I also knew he would have never expected this. When my mom walked in, we shared with them the news. Again, their tears matched ours, and provided us with some emotional support. 

For 5 weeks, we hadn't said a word to our families about the pregnancy. Now, all of a sudden, we are forced to talk about it in a way that we never anticipated. We are talking about it in the past tense. 

I now find myself wide awake with an agonizing nausea that I know has nothing to do with pregnancy symptoms. Luke and I talked last night that we wished we could just unwind yesterday and start over. We expressed that we both felt empty...that we missed "her." We are both haunted by the images in our head of her. Throughout the last 5 weeks, Luke and I both had dreams that we were having a girl, and we claimed we had even seen her face. 

I'm confused. We believe so much that God was responsible for this pregnancy in the first place. We accepted it not on our timing or planning, but we knew we had been chosen for a reason. But now, knowing that it's all over, how do we still believe that God had His hand in this, too? It's a tough pill to swallow. 

Miscarriage to me was always something that happened to other people. It was the little chapter in the back of the pregnancy book. It was the brochure at the doctor's office that no one ever picked up. It happened to the moms who smoked or drank alcohol or did drugs during their pregnancies. It didn't happen to healthy, happy, cautious mothers who followed all the rules and "did everything right." 

Where do we stand? Where do we go from here? We don't know at this point. We both agreed not to think about the future, and that we deserved to grieve for our baby in the manner she (or he) deserves. We lost our first child. That's what this will always mean to us. Even though the baby never made it to fetus status, we still loved her or him with all our hearts. 

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.