{"id":551,"date":"2011-01-25T19:08:00","date_gmt":"2011-01-26T00:08:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/tuesday-january-25-2011\/"},"modified":"2011-01-25T19:08:00","modified_gmt":"2011-01-26T00:08:00","slug":"tuesday-january-25-2011","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/tuesday-january-25-2011\/","title":{"rendered":"Tuesday January 25, 2011"},"content":{"rendered":"

This morning I went to my eight week prenatal visit. The routine, but oh so exciting, kind of visit when you get to see a tiny baby with a heart beat taking up nearly all it’s midsection blipping away faster than you can blink.<\/span>

It was so much fun to walk in those doors … to be on this journey of life again. To know what to expect and yet to be as happy as that first time ever when it felt so odd to open doors labeled obstetrics.<\/span>

The nurse practitioner and I chatted about baby names and kids responses to pregnancies and fears of congenital issues because of my mom and dad’s story.<\/span>

And then she turned for the ultrasound machine and I stared at the screen, looking, looking, looking and realizing I was not looking at a screen of life. “I’m afraid we’re not seeing what we’re expecting,” she broke the news gently. She kept looking, went to get the doctor for a second opinion and tears started rolling down my face and dripping onto the table.<\/span>

It was all too clear. The thickened epithelium where the baby should have been growing, the collapsed sac, and the too big area of blackness.<\/span>

It felt surreal. Me, the person who has never had the slightest scare after the little plus sign showed up, was now the person looking at miscarriage.<\/span>

I feel lost in a sea of emotions.<\/span>

Sadness<\/span><\/font> …. for the baby we’ve all four been talking about already.<\/span>

Grief<\/span><\/font> …. as the dream of a September 5th baby dies. <\/span>

Disappointment<\/span><\/font> … like someone handed me an exquisitely wrapped gift and just as I was about to tear open the ribbons and peek inside, they grabbed it back.<\/span>

Anger<\/span><\/font> … that while some women blip through their first trimester asymptomatic, I have had weeks of nausea for nothing.<\/span>

Fear<\/span><\/font> … of the unknown of the days to come. I’ve never gone this road before.<\/span>

A ray of Hope<\/span><\/font> … because life comes after death. I stepped out of the car when I got home, my face streaming wet for the umpteenth time this morning. It’s mid-January but the sun hit me full force. The noon temperature was in the fifties and I smelled a whiff of earthiness and Springtime. For a few minutes the fog of sadness cleared and as clearly as though God had made Himself visible, I felt Him reminding me. Life comes after death, just as Spring comes after Winter. <\/span>

I don’t know what all is in the next part of the story, but for now I can only believe. <\/span>

Hope<\/span>

Trust<\/span>

Pray<\/span>

Yesterday I was the woman with the secret in her tummy. <\/span>

Today I am the woman with the black hole.<\/span>

Yesterday I was talking to God, the Author, Creator, and Sustainer of Life.<\/span>

Today I am talking to God, the Author, Creator and Sustainer of Life who is also my Father and who can carry me through the thousand question marks branded in my heart.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This morning I went to my eight week prenatal visit. The routine, but oh so exciting, kind of visit when you get to see a tiny baby with a heart… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-551","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p39ynQ-8T","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[],"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/551","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=551"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/551\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=551"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=551"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=551"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}