August 29

The next morning, I went to work. I was able to get somethings done. Feeling surprisingly optimistic, hoping that my faith and hope would drive the outcome. I prayed so hard on the drive to IMC. I prayed as I walked across the parking lot, passing a pregnant woman on my way. I prayed in the elevator. I literally whispered "please...please...please..." as I walked towards the lab. I was cheerful when the technician stuck my left arm. On the elevator back down, a couple walked in behind me; the woman wearing sweats and carrying a vase of flowers. The man carrying an infant car seat, with an infant inside. I smiled, "That is a brand new baby, so sweet. Congratulations." And I went back to work.

About an hour later I got a call from my doctor, Dr. Jeffery Barton. What a blessed soul. He said the numbers didn't look good and asked if I could come in for an ultrasound that afternoon. My confidence, shaken, but not shattered, I called Chase, met him at home and we drove in silence, hand in hand, to IMC for the third time that week. Three days before we were celebrating. And now we couldn't speak.

We waited in the lobby. We got put in a room. Dr. Barton came in and reiterated, the numbers do not look good. He did an ultrasound. Then he transitioned into, I am so sorry... this was not caused by anything you did... it is relatively common...there is no heartbeat... wait for heavy bleeding...call us if you need help handling the emotions...you will be okay...try again in a few months...

I am pretty good at not crying in front of people. And I didn't cry. I also didn't say hardly anything, for fear that if I opened my mouth the flood gates would open. As we walked out of the office, through the lobby full of expecting women, couples, and newborn babies, I had to hold my breath and look straight at the door, Chase walking behind me. When we made it to the hallway, I took one breath, Chase took my hand, I buried my face in his chest and cried in the middle of a crowed hospital hallway.