February 4th was a horrible day.
Just four weeks prior, Logan and I had two more of our frozen embryos implanted. We had high hopes that both embryos would implant, just like the success from our first round of IVF.
It was after my very long four days of bed rest, plus one week later when I received that very nerve wracking phone call, indicating that yes we were in fact pregnant. I was thrilled. I still walked around for days like I had something very delicate inside me that could be lost at any moment.
Fast forward to seven weeks of pregnancy when I was sitting on the couch and felt a little "pop" below. Immediately followed by a stream of red. My heart sunk and it felt like it was beating out of my chest--even my hearing became muffled. After a three second pause and self pep talk (which sounded something like "Brooke, calm down, you've been through this before. Where's my phone?"), I ran to the restroom and called my doctor. I remember saying to the nurse, " I think I'm in trouble."
To spare the ugly details, that night (February 4th), we lost our little embryo--the only one that implanted this time around. The doctor asked us to do things no one should ever have to. It was very sad. Logan stuck by me the whole night. He was great.
So, just like our twin babies, baby #3 we won't get to meet any time soon. I don't know how much more of this I can handle. I remember though, pleading with the Lord that if for some reason, he was going to take this baby, then I asked it be early. And, it was.
This time around was not as difficult as the first. Not that we love this baby any less, but we were more prepared to handle our situation. We are becoming pro's in an area no one wants to become a pro in. Bummer.
