I guess this is how I heal

when things are hard and I need to vent, get something out of my head, or try to move on this is where I turn. I write for me and I write in hopes that what I go through might help someone going through the same thing.

What I’m writing about today is heartbreaking, but it happened. I’m not the first person it’s happened to and I won’t be the last. I don’t know why it happened, or if I could have done anything differently to keep it from happening.

I was 12 weeks and 2 days pregnant. Was. I noticed a problem and called the on call dr, the nurse I spoke to said to just take it easy and call back if it got worse. It got worse. We spent most of Sunday in the ER waiting. And waiting. Trying to think positive and praying. We had lots of people praying for us, but we can’t change Gods will. 

We waited for blood work, and then for an ultrasound, and then for results.  It was a long, hard day. I had very little physical pain, but was in a constant state of worry. And we were kept waiting. 

Finally around 1:30 the ER dr came back and said he was the bearer of bad news. There was no heartbeat on the ultrasound, and the baby didn’t look like it was viable.

   I was past 12 weeks, I thought my chances of having a full term pregnancy got better after 12 weeks, but I guess that’s just a percentage game. Pregnancies are still miscarried after 12 weeks, after 16 weeks, even after 20 weeks. Percentages make us feel safe, until we’re in the lower side of the percentage scale.

God has a plan. As hard as it is for me to let go of my baby that I never met, never got to hold, or even look at, I believe that God has a plan. He wanted my little angel up in heaven.  Maybe someday, I’ll get to meet the precious angel I never got to watch grow up.

  

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