it’ s bad news today, she said.

Dear Bubble2 – I learned today that your heart stopped beating and you stopped growing at 7w6d. That means you’ve been with me a week and a half and all this time I’ve been talking to you and patting your home and loving you and you were already gone.
I’ve been thinking up names and trying to guess if you’re a boy or a girl and living like you’re coming and you weren’t ever coming. And you weren’t still living.
So sad. I’m so sad to have to say goodbye to you. You were loved and wanted and cherished already even though you were just a little bean, or blueberry or olive or whatever you were when you started to not be. You maybe couldn’t hear us, but we called you Olive this week – as that’s the size you were supposed to be, but it looks like you never quite got there.
I used to say I could never get pregnant enough to lose a baby and I couldn’t imagine how horrible it would feel. Now that I have, I think perhaps the feeling i had not being able to get pregnant at all was better. Though that’s easy for me to say when Bubble1 is here after all that heartache and wonderful.
I suppose these few blissful weeks prior to today, this awful day, have been one of the great joys in my life. So I thank you for that joy, even though it has to end in such sorrow. And for that, I know that not being able to get pregnant is not better. I suppose that’s where the whole “better to have loved and lost” thing comes from. I tell you Bubble2, I have more than once questioned the validity of that statement.
We believed you were our last hope for another. We certainly don’t have the means or perhaps the fortitude to carry on. Though it breaks my heart to say good bye to you and to my hopes too so I reserve the right to change my mind on this issue.
I knew about 2 min into our ultrasound that things were not going right. The tech acted strangely. She told me to wait till the end for the results. I noticed her eyes welled up as she scanned. My tears started long before there was an absolute confirmation and even as they were streaming down my face a small part of me thought she would say – phew – there’s the heartbeat.
But no. It’s bad news today, the nurse said.
Bad news indeed.
It’s bad news to learn you have to say goodbye to someone who isn’t but is as loved as anyone who walks the earth.
I’ve done my fair share of losing in my life so I should be getting better at it. Not so, it seems.
Alas, my heart is broken open all over again. For you sweet Olive – lost, but not forgotten. Never forgotten.

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8 Comments

Filed under ivf

8 responses to “it’ s bad news today, she said.

  1. Nic

    I am so so sorry for your loss.
    x

  2. Oh god, I am so very sorry.

  3. janice

    oh Mel I am so sorry to read this. lots of love for you and hubby xxoo

  4. So sorry to read this. Hugs.

  5. Shannon

    I’m so so so sorry to see this update. 😦 My heart breaks for you.

  6. Such devastating, heartbreaking news. I’m so sorry. Love to you and your family.

  7. Sorry isn’t enough, but nothing probably is. Thinking of you.

  8. Pingback: A Day to Remember What You’ll Never Forget |

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