July of 2017 saw us spending a lot of time at the fertility clinic. At least once a week, sometimes more.
We went in the middle of July to get intrauterine insemination done, as the hormones in my blood were indicating that I was getting ready to ovulate. My instructions were to take a pregnancy test 14 days after the procedure. That was one of the longest 14 days of my life.
That morning, I took a pregnancy test, and the line was very faint, but it was there. I was pregnant, but would it last? I had miscarried at about 6 weeks along twice already, so I didn't want to get my hopes up. After the test, we went to get more blood work done and make sure my hormone levels were good.
They were a little lower than I think they wanted, but they were in the range, and they were growing when I went back again. Our hopes were fairly high that this pregnancy would be successful. We set up an appointment with the fertility specialist to have an ultrasound at 7 weeks to make sure that everything was looking good.
At this point, I don't think I felt pregnant yet. I hadn't been hit with not wanting to eat or nausea. I wasn't super worried, though. We made it to the appointment and they started the ultrasound. Almost immediately, I could see the little fetus. It definitely had a heartbeat, but I was starting to tell the dr wasn't too pleased with what he saw.
After he turned the machine off, he had me get clothes back on before he came back in. He told us that the fetus was measuring around 5 weeks in size and had a slower heartbeat than he thought it should. In short, he told us to prepare to miscarry by the end of the week.
We. Were. Devastated.
We had seen the heartbeat. The baby was small, but alive. I couldn't go through a miscarriage again. And honestly, if I had, it might have broken me. We tried to keep it together leaving the office with our sweet little E, not sure what was happening. I asked for a blessing, if we could get someone to come help J give one.
The rest of the day I cried. I cried so hard, I regretted it the next day, because I had a major headache and puffy eyes. J kept saying, "Why did he have to show us the heartbeat?" I think that seeing him that sad and depressed was so hard, and it might have been the closest I've seen him to crying. (But don't tell him I said that.)
I posted on Facebook that afternoon asking for prayers from our family and friends. It was so hard to not be able to give details, but I am grateful to everyone that said a little prayer for us. That night, I got a blessing from him and the person he worked with for Deacon's Quorum/Scouts. I didn't know what would happen, but I had peace that everything would work out.
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