Friday was supposed to be an exciting, happy day for us. I had my first doctor's appointment with the OB and I was looking forward to hearing a healthy heartbeat. When the doctor did the exam she couldn't find a heartbeat, so she sent me for an ultrasound. The ultrasound revealed that, although I was supposed to be a little over eleven weeks pregnant, our baby didn't make it past week seven. No heartbeat. It was devastating, but that doesn't really explain my feelings about it. I can't really put it into words.
The medical facts are that our baby died around the seventh week but my body wasn't showing any signs of miscarriage. I had two options: Surgery or take a medication that would help my body miscarry. I chose the medication. I took one dose last night, and the process started within about four hours (about 3:30 this morning). There is, of course, both physical and emotional pain, but overall, I think I'm doing as well as can be expected.
I go back to the OB doctor on Monday so they can check my progress and give me a RhoGAM shot (I'm RH-negative). I need to continue with the gestational diabetes regimen until the
placenta has exited my body because the placenta is what causes a
pregnant person's body to become insulin resistant. I will also check
in with the GD doctor on Monday.
Our lights went out last night, so we filled the room with candles. This candle lit up a picture frame that I got for my birthday from a friend. I thought it fit the day, so I snapped a photo of it.
This morning, B. sat on my tummy and said, "Baby in there? Mommy's
got a baby in her tummy?" I paused and then just said "No." Then she
said, "It's gone?".