This morning, I did a pregnancy test (by blood) at the lab. Though I lost my little Teddy Graham in mid-April, my last test two weeks ago was still showing positive for pregnancy. It wasn’t a quantitative test so I don’t know how much HcG was there, but it was enough to say that I was pregnant. Even though I wasn’t. Anymore.
But I just checked my results from this morning and across the screen there was a big, fat: NEGATIVE. My heart sank a little. It’s not like it was any surprise. And I was even hoping for it, so that we can move forward, try again, create a new life and find hope in all the promises and dreams it offers. But that one word made it all very, very real. Until now, I think a part of me was still in denial. Like by some miracle, every doctor and ultrasound tech had been wrong, and my baby was still there. I even had one completely irrational thought that maybe I had two uteruses (uteri?) and a baby in one had died and yet a baby in the other had not (I know I’m crazy, please don’t judge) and I was still pregnant after all. But the lab work today made it final. My baby is gone. And except for the hole in my heart, and the candle in our kitchen that we still burn for him, it’s like he never even existed at all.