After recovering physically from the second round of losing our babies, we began discussing whether or not to continue. Mike was supportive of whatever I wanted to do. It was hard on him to have to watch me go through the miscarriage and the loss, but he would support me if I wanted to continue on. We decided that God had directed us on this path in the beginning and to continue forward until He closed the door. So, in September, it all started again. The shots. The mood swings. The anticipation, fear and hope (all mingled into one).
We got to the same magic phone call, made it past each bloodwork where the numbers needed to improve and they improved, but we knew that unless we could get past that 6.5 week sonogram, we would be going through the same pain and loss as before. The sonogram was scheduled. It would be at 7 weeks, 1 day. The day before Thanksgiving. My parents would be in town. So many of our plans hung on whether or not we got good news at that sonogram. As much as I was hoping and praying for good news, my heart was trying to prepare itself to hear the same old news.
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