Lost the battle...

...but we haven't lost the war.

So, last Wednesday we learned the heart had stopped. Luckily, they were able to do a procedure on Friday that removed the tissue (and yes, I know that might sound a little cold, but when I describe it differently, I can't hold it together). We had the option to wait to see whether it would resolve, but I couldn't bear the thought of physically miscarrying. Plus, with the procedure they can run tests to make sure it was in fact a freak chromosomal issue and terribly bad luck.

We join the one on four who have lost a child right in the middle of the month that Facebook says is to remember and raise awareness. This is both convenient and inconvenient. The first, because I know there's this sisterhood who understands my grief and will share and comfort. The second, because I can't get on social media without being reminded. For me, this is a fresh wound that keeps getting opened.

I'm trying so hard to be ok. The truth is that even though I never got to feel movement, or look like I was carrying, or hear the heart or see the little parts on an ultrasound, I had just enough time to get excited for all of those things. Just enough time to start thinking about what it was going to be like to finally hold our baby. Just enough time to wonder if it would have my blue eyes or hubby's quick wit. Just enough time to be overjoyed at the idea of being a parent.

We will move forward and transfer the other embryo on deck when my body is ready. And I will be guardedly optimistic and terrified. And my heart will always hurt a little. That's the thing about battles - win or lose, you leave a little piece of yourself behind after each fight and you are never the same.