Life as of late has been challenging to say the least.

On July 15 Pete and I lost a baby.  The 14th we found out we were pregnant, and the 15th I underwent surgery where they removed our baby and my right fallopian tube.  

There is so much information surrounding these circumstances but the short of it is this: We went to the ER on the 14th thinking I had appendicitis or a cyst at the worst. It was there that we found out we were pregnant.  The next day I went into surgery thinking that I was two weeks pregnant and knowing that the baby was dying and that, even if it wasn't an ectopic pregnancy, they would be removing it. I woke up to find out that I had begun bleeding internally and that I was more like nine weeks pregnant.


I know that miscarriages aren't talked about very openly in our society.  I've always been a pretty open person.  This is the first time that I've found it harder to be open and share, but I think it's time and that this venue is appropriate.


I know that I am lucky. I am alive [ectopic pregnancies are life threatening if not "treated"]. I have friends and family to support me.  And much, much more. I know that this can be turned into a blessing and that good can come of it, because that's what God does. He takes crappy situations and teaches us through them.


I know that I could have been planning and preparing for this child and had a relationship with it for much longer and had a more difficult and different kind of heart break than what I've experienced/am experiencing.  And I can only imaging what that feels like. 


This has been a whirlwind of a month.  I'm still trying to heal physically as well as emotionally.  In under 24 hours we found out we were pregnant and then told that the pregnancy was failing and that they would need to operate. It was a lot to process.


Some may read this and think that at two or at nine weeks I shouldn't be referring to it as a baby.  But it was.  It was it's own person.  It had a soul. I don't believe the baby is an angel. I don't believe that it will come back to us again. It was it's own life, it's own unique soul. I don't question why this happened.  I know we didn't do anything wrong.

It feels so insensitive to say "it" instead of "him" or "her".  That is, unfortunately, one thing I regret- not having the forethought or knowledge to request/demand to know the baby's gender. So for now, that will have to do.


Like I said, there is so much information and things I want to share so that if anyone else goes through this they will do things [slightly] differently.  And I will write about these things in time.  This blog won't always be about this but the first few entries will be.


The first image is of me in the hospital. The second is of Pete and I on an impromptu Roberts Family Vacation in Maine only days earlier.