Silent

I can't believe I'm writing this. Bryan and I found out yesterday that we lost the baby.

We left a concert early Monday night because the spotting I was trying desperately not to worry about escalated into cramping and bleeding. Yesterday morning I called the doctor and she had me come in for an ultrasound.

I couldn't see the monitor, but the room was SO quiet. I mean, no one said a single word. Then, at the point where they turn up the sound there was no heartbeat, just silence. Deeply sad silence. When I got dressed, the technician said she called my doctor who wanted me to come right over, and I didn't need to bother checking out at the desk. When they want you to leave that quickly, you kind of know what's coming. What's more, they told Bryan but told him not to tell me.

I'm an Optical Technician. While it's completely different, I understand the laws that apply to both of us. I know a non-M.D. giving a patient a diagnosis is considered practicing medicine without a license and can lead to severe legal nastiness. So, of course I wasn't shaking anyone's shoulders demanding answers, since they seemed pretty obvious anyway.

My doctor was off that day, so her partner broke the news. The ultrasound showed the embryo was exactly the same size it had been at the six-weeks test and no heartbeat was detected. They have no way to know what went wrong, but there was a problem with the fetus if it wasn't growing. After a brief overview of our options we chose to go home and let nature take it's course, assisted by double-doses of Advil. Hopefully this goes OK on it's own. They took some blood before I left to test the pregnancy hormone level. I had a checkup appointment the day after Christmas so we're going back then to recheck the blood with hopes that the hormone level has dropped to zero.

I know this happens more than people talk about, but at least the doctor who broke the news avoided using the word "common." I deeply appreciate that. I hate the connotations of that word as it relates to these situations, because it sure as hell doesn't l feel common. When you thought a baby was going to join your family and then you find out it isn't... you get where I'm going with this. It is distinctly UNcommon.

Thank you for all your prayers and kind words through the joy and sadness. I know that God is still good and there will be brighter days.