How Do You Give This a Title?

How do you even begin something like this?

What do you say?

How do you attempt to verbalize the whirlwind of the past 24 hours?

At this time yesterday, we were waiting in the exam room for our ultrasound and another peek at our baby.

How quickly things change.

I could tell something was wrong by the look on my doctor's face. The ultrasound was over way too quickly and his eyes said it all.

"I'm not liking what I'm seeing, so I'd like to send you over to the perinatal center at the hospital to get a more in depth scan...I don't want you to worry yet, but I think we need to get this looked at...."

The tears started before I even had a chance to think.

Something was wrong with our baby? At over 9 weeks?

I thought the chances for that are so much lower now?

We stood in the reception area while the doctor called and asked them to "fit us in" whenever they could this morning.

People were staring. Tears were still running down my face as I tried to stare at the ground, at the picture on the wall, at Chad, anything other than letting people know what happened,

At this point, I was still technically "at work". The two big kids were at school and so Littlest Miss tagged along for the appointment,

She was completely oblivious to all the emotion swirling around her.

Oh, to be that young and innocent again.

We headed straight for the hospital, and I knew I had to call my mom on the way and let her know what was happening. But what do you say?

Thankfully, she could tell by the tone of my voice. (My mama is awesome like that.)

She talked to me the entire way to the hospital, and I could feel her heart breaking a little too. I hated to be the person that brought that on her, but I knew if anyone would understand, it would be my mommy.

We made it through admitting in a daze. I answered all the questions on auto-pilot.

Littlest Miss was picked up by her grandma so that we could have the day to ourselves to take care of whatever came. (I'm so thankful for my boss and her understanding throughout this.)

The ladies at the perinatal center were so kind. But I could also tell from the look on their faces...we shouldn't get our hopes up.

They even gave us a private room to stay in rather than the waiting room.

And then we waited. And waited some more. We both tried to numb our brains by staring at our phones. But the tears kept leaking out.

Finally, it was our turn. The ultrasound lady was kind and calm.

But I could tell, Something was wrong. Not by the look on her face, but by the fact that this ultrasound lasted longer, more photos, more measuring.

And then it was over. And she said the doctor would be in soon to discuss...

A fresh batch of tears found their way out. I was watching the screen while she worked. There was no baby.

There was a sac or two? Or even three?

But they were empty.

My eyes had slowed down the the time the doctor came in and told us what we already knew by that point. He gave us our options and told us he would call our OB to discuss.

As soon as he shut the door, I crumbled. The tears and the sobs, holding on to Chad like he was the only thing holding me up because my own legs couldn't.

They led us back to yet another private room with a bed for me to lay down, as well as a few chairs and a TV.

The nurse sat down next to me and told me what things I could be expecting. She said to be kind to myself. That I did nothing wrong. That it may take a few days to heal physically, but emotionally, it would take longer.

Heal? From this? From losing our very first baby? How do you heal from this? How do you go back to normal life?

I called my mom again. I couldn't even tell you what I said or what she said, except that she was coming to be there with us.

Chad called his parents to update them while we waited.

And then my mama was there. She hugged us, she cried with us, and she was there when the doctor arrived to discuss our options.

In all this waiting time, as my heart had been crying out to God, begging Him not to take our baby, it seemed that I already knew before the doctor told us.

And He made the option clear. It was clear to all of us.

It was time to plan for surgery.

We got a call about an hour after the doctor left that surgery would be at or around 430 that afternoon.

At this point, it was around 2, so we were told to head down to the surgery center.

I'm thanking God over and over that He brought my mom to be there. She and Chad both guided me down to the surgery center.

I think a mind and body numbness had settled over me by this point, to where I don't even really remember how we got there, any of the checking in, anything like that. Praise the Lord for that.

Our nurse was very kind. She started to go through the paperwork with us.

And then yet another bomb dropped...one that not even my mom saw coming...

They asked us what we wanted to do with baby's remains.

Did we want them released to us for private burial? Or to be buried at their family plot.

How does a person make a choice like that?

I had woken up that morning excited to get new pictures of baby that we could show to our friends and I could start the baby book with; and now, less than 8 hours later they were asking us how and where we wanted to bury our first baby?

Yet another set of tears sprung up and started to slide down my face.

We went through the rest of the paperwork and checks from the doctors on auto pilot. Again, thank you Lord for my husband and my mama to do the talking for me.

A numb sort of shock had settled over me, and it felt almost paralyzing.

My daddy arrived about 20 minutes before they wheeled me back for surgery.

By now, the tiny room they had us in was feeling crowded, but I much preferred that to feeling empty.

And then it was time to go.

Last hugs and kisses, and more tears.

Thankfully, the anesthesia was starting to kick in as they wheeled me down the hall, so I couldn't feel scared or sad.

And then we were in the OR. And I saw my doctor's face.

And I stared at the ceiling tiles, hoping that when I woke up, this would have been some kind of awful, vivid nightmare.

...and then I woke up. In a room full of strange people and strange noises. The recovery room.

And it all came flooding back.

Our baby was gone.

I was no longer growing a new life inside me.

And then I just felt empty. More empty than I've ever felt in my life.

The familiar sting of tears came back...

...and I wanted out of there.

I wanted to squeeze my husband's hand.

I wanted my mama to hug me.

I wanted my dad to make one of his awful jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Finally it was time to see my family again.

They all looked as tired and wrung out as I felt.

I told the nurse that I'd do whatever I needed to do to get out as soon as possible.

I wanted to run. To get away from that awful, suffocating room. To get away from the pitying looks of the doctors and nurses.To get away from the overly white, sterile, claustrophobic hospital.

I wanted to be home, in my own bed. To be able to hug my dogs around the neck.

To see what was familiar and be where was familiar so I could begin to process all that had just happened; the turn that our lives had taken in less than 12 hours.

Finally it was time to go home.

And my family were rockstars like normal.

My parents took care of all the little important things, like getting our other car home, getting us dinner, and my prescriptions dropped off.

Then all Chad and I had to worry about was getting ourselves home.

We were both pretty quiet on the way home, both from the shock and emotions, and the pain meds (in my case.)

And then we got home and Chad got me all situated on the couch.

I can't even begin to describe how amazing he has been through all of this. He's been the strong and solid one as I've been breaking to pieces. He has pointed me towards Jesus. He's held my hand through the various poking and prodding and tests. He's been praying over me and over us. He held me last night and we just cried together for a little while.

We miss our baby.

We're mourning the life that was to come.

We're mourning all the plans we had made, the names we had picked, the dreams we had for our family.

The heartache is unreal. All the anger, the hurt, and the guilt, is unlike anything I've experienced before.

Last  night I kept waking up and a new wave would hit.

God, you are so good. We know that. But this situation right here? It's not good. It's awful. It's scary.

We are just now beginning to process the impact that all of these things will have on our daily lives.

We are thankful for all of your prayers and love, friends. We've begun walking down a long, rough road and we are thankful for your support.