When we found out that our baby didn't have a heartbeat we were crushed. The world was caving in on us. When I could finally catch my breath from crying, I asked, "What happens next?". With my head dropped so low I could basically rest it on my lap, I listened to our doctor as she explained our options:

1. Do nothing. We wait for the baby to "pass" on its own at an unknown time- which she guessed to be about two weeks. Pros: inexpensive. Must wait for hcg levels to drop below zero to try to conceive again. Cons: you will see the tissue and baby when they pass, you will experience cramping and bleeding for a period of time (also unknown). If not all tissue passes or you experience prolonged bleeding, you have to come back for a D&C (Dilation and Curettage) procedure.

2. Office visit for Cytotec, within 24 hours the baby and tissue should pass. Pros: inexpensive (just the cost of an office visit), being fully aware of the time frame in which the baby will pass (avoiding the waiting game). Must wait for hcg levels to drop below zero to try to conceive again. Cons: if nothing happens, you have to go back for another, or possibly a D&C. Cramping, bleeding for a period of time afterwards (unknown). Extended bleeding would also result in a necessary D&C per your doctors instruction.

3. Scheduling a D&C, a procedure where they surgically remove the tissue from inside your uterus. Pros: Quick procedure (usually lasts 45min-1hr), little cramping & bleeding afterwards, no waiting games, sense of sureness that all tissue was cleared and nothing remaining to cause infection/fertility troubles in the future. Cons: A surgical procedure cost, anesthesia complications/side effects, must wait 3 months to try to conceive again, no use of tampons for 1 month, no sex for 1 month.

We took two days to decide on the D&C, although we were very close to trying the cytotec. I didn't know if I could mentally handle seeing the baby pass, as I know friends who had seen it and it still haunts them, although it did provide closure knowing they got to see their baby. I knew waiting for it to pass on its own would absolutely kill me; I would be afraid to go to the bathroom or it happening while I was out grocery shopping (or worse- at work). The fear of having leftover tissue affecting future pregnancies scared me the most, because not one part of me wants to experience this ever again. Although the thought of the cost kept creeping into the back of my mind- my husband continually reassured me to "not think about the cost" and choose what was right for me.

When it was time for the surgery, we arrived at the hospital an hour and a half early to get blood drawn, start the IV, and meet the doctors. The nurse walked me through the paperwork which included a directive for the deceased baby- something I was not aware I would have to do. I hadn't cried once all morning but looking at this form was a knife to the heart, maybe because it was unexpected or maybe because it finalized everything. We had the choice of our own funeral service or a communal casket with other angel babies which would be buried at St. Michael's cemetery at an unknown time and an unmarked location. We chose the latter as it was comforting for me to know by baby wasn't alone. When the doctor was ready, they walked me into the OR and had me lay on a table and gave me an oxygen mask. After three deep breaths, I woke up in recovery to a nurse taking my vitals. My mouth tasted like plastic and I was completely groggy. Five or ten (? Could've been thirty?) minutes later they got me into a wheelchair and rolled me back to my husband in the room I started in. I had very minimal cramping (a "1" on the infamous 1-10 pain scale) and some light bleeding. Nurses brought me peanut butter toast and hot chocolate (my request) which was delightful, as I hadn't eaten in 17 hours. I was given a shot of Rhogam straight in the rear with the largest needle they could possibly find.

Just as simply as we came, we left the hospital. As I sat waiting for my prescriptions to fill (antibiotics for 5 days and pain meds as needed), I felt particularly empty. I swear the store was filled with every pregnant woman in a 10 miles radius, they surrounded me as a reminder that my uterus was barren where there should be a life. I walked around the store picking out anything that seemed to temporarily fill the void (veggie sticks, candy corn, and a Deluxe Beef Stroganoff Hamburger Helper). Upon arriving home, I lay down in bed frustrated that life wasn't fair and felt sorry for myself. It feels so good to feel sorry for myself. I searched Miscarriage groups on Facebook only to see sadness and despair, which didn't help my cause much. It's comforting to know other women are experiencing this, but right now I only had enough grief for my baby, who we decided to name Wesley, boy or girl. We hope that naming our baby- no matter how young- will help others understand the enormity of our loss and grief. Wesley was only alive for a short time, but in that short time we were excited, planning, and picturing our family growing. The length of a life doesn't measure the impact of the loss. The rest of the night was spent crying into a pillow and binge watching terrible shows on Netflix (mind numbingly bad).

There's consolation knowing there was no tissue left over to surprise me in the following day, I barely even spotted. But every time I found comfort in that fact, it pained me a little more because my belly was truly empty, and Wesley was 100% gone. Carrying an angel inside of you gives mixed feelings- you are still carrying your child and they are with you, yet you are carrying something not living that should be, and at times I just "wanted it out". This is not a clean slate. This is not a fresh start. This is a scar that is left on my heart to never completely heal. It aggravates me to have to wait 3 months before trying again, but the rule is there for a reason (month 1 is D&C, month 2 is healing, month 3 is regular period again). Baby Wesley will always be with me and watching over their big brother. My son has a guardian angel and he will never be alone. We love you baby Wes.