Gutted. 8 weeks 4 days. Loss.

Shattered. I don't know how else to summarise.
I was "planning" to be making an announcement soon. One of those ones that results in "happy for you, sad for me" responses for many. Instead, I'm revisiting feelings that I've been through before.

Today I am 8 weeks 4 days pregnant. And today was our second scan to check on the little one's progress. Everyone was so confident. Except me. I can see that now, that really, I knew.

Two weeks ago our first scan was fabulous. Measuring smack on dates, with a beautiful strong heart beat.

Today we saw a beautiful little one, measuring perfect dates, but laying still. No flicker of heart beat. I knew as soon as I saw the little one on the screen.

It is what it is. I'm ok.

I dread having to go through a miscarriage again. Miscarrying naturally is not pleasant. But as I remember a beautiful blogging friend saying about her own, this time round I think I will need to choose the surgical option. I don't have the luxury of waiting, alone at home with an 18 month old, on a farm 50km from medical services. Shane doesn't have the luxury of working for himself anymore and although his boss is fantastic sitting at home with me for a couple of weeks isn't an option either.

I have to return for another scan on Tuesday. I guess it's to confirm that there is no heartbeat and that the little one has died. But as the dates were so accurate for today it would only have died earlier today. How cruel is that. The sonographer, and the FS, both gave the impression that maybe, just maybe, on Tuesday we might see a heartbeat again. At the time we just took it, but now several hours later I'm angry at that. There was a heartbeat two weeks ago, and now there isn't. How will there be one in a few days time? How could it have been missed? I don't think so. But if course that instills hope. Falsely it seems to me.

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I'm tired. Exhausted. I'm angry. Again. At a lot of things really. In no particular order, I'm angry at our poor little one for not sticking around. I'm angry at our makers, God, the universe, for dishing this shit to us again. I'm angry that "they" are testing my strength, and pushing my boundaries. Again. And again. I'm angry that the hope that had built up in 8w4d changes things. I started out comfortable with Toby being an only child. With only using our remaining frosties in storage and doing no more fresh cycles. But right now I'm angry that I have another loss under my belt that has already created a yearning for that second child. No matter what. Except financially there is no no matter what.

So many "angries". I'm angry too that there are so many friends due within weeks of when I would be. I wish them well, and thankfully I am in a better place now with Toby here, but it's still going to hurt come April/May.

And I'm angry that this had to happen now. This date. Too close. No breathing space.

Of course I've hit the "why me"'s again. Why us? Why do we have to get all the shit luck. But then I remember just how lucky we are, and it does help a little. Just not enough. Because you look out there at some people and they have it so easy. They might not think they do, you know, but they seriously stress over getting their hair done or fingernails manicured. Because its the biggest thing they have had to deal with.

This isn't the biggest thing I've had to deal with, but I'll be ok. Soldier on. I can't afford too much down time or tears.