On March 25, 2010, I was scheduled for my first ultrasound. I was only 11 weeks at that point, but my 12 week ultrasound got bumped up by a few days because we were getting ready to PCS to Arizona the following week. Evan and I were so excited to see our baby and to hear his/her heartbeat for the first time. I knew at 6 weeks along that I would be having the ultrasound done and I remember anxiously counting down the days. On the day of the appointment, I remember talking to the doctor about just how bad the pregnancy symptoms were getting – dizziness, severe food aversions, all day nausea. All the symptoms pointed towards a normal pregnancy. I didn’t think anything was wrong.
The nurse wheeled in the ultrasound machine, the doctor squirted that icky gel onto my stomach, and started moving the wand around. When she didn’t find the baby within a few seconds, I felt my heart drop into my stomach. I knew something was wrong. I squeezed Evan’s hand a little tighter, bracing myself for the words that I knew were coming.
She couldn’t find a heartbeat. I just laid there on the table with my legs up and started crying. I was immediately sent to the lab for bloodwork and to x-ray so I could have an internal ultrasound done. What a sight I must have been for the patients in the hospital that day. I had to walk all the way from one end of the hospital to the other to get to the lab. I was crying so hard but didn’t care who saw me. I remember the ultrasound technician being so cold. I had asked her if she could tell me what she was seeing on the screen but she refused to talk to me at all. My doctor came in the room and told me that our baby had stopped growing at almost 7 weeks. A missed miscarriage had occurred. We had to make a decision about what we would do next. We made the decision to have a D&C done because my body just wasn’t letting go of the pregnancy. I wasn’t going to let my body keep thinking it was pregnant when it wasn’t. I was hurting enough and didn’t need the daily reminders that I wasn’t going to be a mommy yet.
March 25th will always be a tough day. Even though it’s been a year, I still miss my first baby. I should have a 5 month old in my arms right now but I don’t. I still don’t fully understand why my baby was taken from me. I don’t understand why my second baby was taken either. I don’t understand why we haven’t been blessed with another pregnancy yet. There are so many unanswered questions that I fear will never be answered. There’s a saying that God only gives us as much as we can handle. I really don’t know how much more I can handle.