I had another miscarriage. #3.
Both Kellen and I go in this week for bloodwork to check for genetic, immunological, and other issues. I have another hysteroscopy on Thursday to see how my uterus looks since the surgery. We know from the SIS and the pregnancy that obviously my uterus is mostly clear of adhesions, but there may still be some small areas of scar tissue or damage to the endometrium that could cause losses.
On the one hand, I kind of hope all these tests turn up something. It would be so nice to have some answers, some reason why this keeps happening. On the other hand, a lot of the possible answers could spell an end to any hope for us having another baby, and if they find any treatable problems, that means more poking and prodding. I’m so tired of being poked and prodded. For once, I just want to hear, “Everything looks great, everything will be fine,” and have it be true. Not that that’s something anyone–even our doctor–can tell us. But god, I wish someone could.
I don’t think I need to go into how heartbreaking this is. How frustrating. How unfair.
I think what’s hardest about this loss in particular is the fact that I have so little hope left. It’s just gone, along with whatever tiny shred of confidence in my body I still had after all that has happened in the last year.
Our doctor is optimistic, and I’m trying to be. I want to be. But it’s so hard, because letting yourself entertain hope hurts like hell when those hopes get dashed to bits. Again.