When the nurse called me yesterday to tell me that my hcg had dropped to 25, I was prepared. I knew there wasn’t any hope left, not now.
She spoke in a comforting voice, asked if there was anything she could do for me. No, nothing, thank you.
Then she told me that if, while bleeding, I “passed” anything, I should be sure to save it and bring it in to my lab appointment on Friday so they could do genetic testing and try to determine what caused the miscarriage.
Um, no thank you. I am not up for sifting through a pool of blood for the remains of my would-have-been son or daughter.
Besides, it doesn’t matter why it happened.
It’s not going to happen again. It can’t happen again, because we’re not trying again.
I prayed for this baby. I prayed, so, so hard and I had so many other people praying with me. And still, STILL, I miscarried.
They say God has a plan for everyone. I personally think that’s a crock of shit, but if it’s true, then God’s plan for me does not include another baby.
Thanks, God, for choosing such a cruel fucking way to show me.
I am so incredibly grateful for my beautiful daughter. It breaks my heart that I won’t be able to give her a sibling.
But this is it. I can’t go through this again. I won’t.