Exactly one year ago today, we knew for certain that we had lost our baby and I went in for surgery. I was shaking; terrified that I was making the wrong decision, trying to cling to the hope that maybe the doctors were wrong.
About a month ago, I began a new cycle. It was the first medicated cycle with oral medicines, injections, suppositories, plus baby aspirin, and progesterone after ovulation. Everything went perfectly. I responded to medications, timing was perfect; I even gave up caffeine and alcohol because I KNEW this was it. My magical, miracle cycle.
I waited patiently for 13 days after giving myself the trigger; 12DPO. I love even numbers, and my test date was all even [another *positive* sign]. Last night, I couldn’t sleep and when I did, I had dreams of a glaringly positive test a growing belly, and a happy family.
I finally got up to test this morning. I used a cheap test, since I’ve found it is actually the most sensitive. I didn’t wait more than a minute, before I decided that I would also use one of my digitals. Now, I’ve only ever used digitals when I am *positive* that I am pregnant; therefore, they have only ever said “pregnant”. Not this one.
I crawled back into bed in the small space between Mr.A and the edge of the bed and sobbed uncontrollably. At first, he probably couldn’t tell if it was a good thing or a bad thing; since anymore I cry over everything. But he figured it out pretty quickly when I said, “I was so sure….it just isn’t fair”.
