That's what I said when I saw the heartbeat.
I told the ultrasound tech, the nurses, everyone except the valet parker. I said, "I've had five miscarriages, I've done no treatment for this, this pregnancy is a surprise." In my head I was figuring out which day would be best for the D&C with my work schedule.
Then that fuzzy, grainy image came up on the screen, and for the first time in 6 pregnancies, I saw it immediately. It's that feisty, adamant flicker.
"Well," the tech said, "your little pumpkin has a heartbeat."
She measured the length and the rest of whatever measurements they do, and it came up as 6 wks, 5 days. I said, "But it's not measuring right." She looked and said, "No, your LMP puts you at 7wks, 4 days; there isn't even a week of discrepancy. This is fine." She sounded completely confident. Huh.
I feel fuzzy headed. Like I just inhaled laughing gas. But I'm not laughing or crying. I just keep saying Huh. I said that like 10 times in a conversation with Angie.
We talked to the nurse, and did the bloodwork.
Is it my cocktail of Excedrin and Diet Pepsi? Is that what I needed all along? Huh.
I'm not on the blood thinners, steroids, progesterone or IVIG I was on before. And we didn't do the lymphocyte immune therapy before conception.
And yet, a heartbeat. Huh.
It's good news. As far as I'm concerned, a heartbeat is a miracle. Each little heartbeat is a miracle. And as my friend Cathy, veteran of several miscarriages with a few miracle children herself, said, "Until it's not, it is."
Thank you thank you thank you for your texts, emails, comments here .. . . . I felt so surrounded by goodness going into the doctor's office today.