A black sac appeared on the screen. An empty black sac. I didn’t quite realize that it was empty at first, because as a newbie, I didn’t exactly know what I was supposed to be looking for. But I could tell the ultrasound technician was perplexed and moving her little wand all around my tummy trying to see something more. There was no talking between us. Then:
Her: “Well, that is your gestational sac. But I’m not seeing the baby or hearing any fetal heart sounds.”
Me: “Would I have the sac if I wasn’t pregnant?”
Her: “No. You’re pregnant.”
After a long time of her rubbing that little thing around and typing all sorts of measurements into her computer:
Her: (with a very kind and gentle tone) “Oh, honey, I’m going to let the doctors talk to you about that. They know more about that than I do.”
Me: “Okay” (a little bit of concern settling in)
The doctor told me I could just be earlier along in my pregnancy than they originally thought. Orrrr it could be a sign of an impending miscarriage. She scheduled me to come back the following week for another ultrasound.
I left the office. It was raining outside. Sat in my car and called Matt. Went to Panera across the street. Ate lunch in thoughtful silence. Stopped to get a a large dark chocolate bar on the way home.
Once home and curled on the couch, I cried a little at the unexpected news and the possibility of something being wrong but found great comfort in the Psalms of trust (and that chocolate bar).
The Lord buoyed me with hope and sustained me with his Word leading up to the next appointment. The day before I was schedule to go back, I was meditating on Psalm 142:5 –
You are all I really want in life.
But I knew I wasn’t alone and sensed Jesus right there in that room with me. Crying with me as I cried. His presence means everything to me.
Specifically, I have what is called a “blighted ovum” (empty gestational sac) measuring 7 weeks 5 days at my 11 week appointment.
So we just talked openly about both realities, jumping back and forth in conversation. We shared in each other’s joy and grief the best we could, but (I think by God’s good grace) understood it was unfair to expect the other to equally feel our own feelings.