We're 0 for 1

A few posts ago I mentioned that my sister said Andy and I must be getting all the hard stuff out of the way in our first year of marriage. It has been an interesting year. Between living in an AC-free construction zone house during the hottest summer ever, two bouts of bronchitis, one chronic illness diagnosis, one job layoff, and a couple of nasty sinus infections (during the holidays, no less), it's been a tough year. Add to that the fact that we are newlyweds and still figuring out how to live together, share money, figure out who our friends still are, survive in a family ward (which is soooo different from a singles ward), and get through our fights in a fair and respectful manner, and it's just been plain chaos.

Which means that when I had not one, but two, positive pregnancy tests on New Year's, we were so excited. It was like Heavenly Father was just saying, "I know it's been hard, but here is something you have wanted for so long, and I want you to have it. Enjoy!"

Some of you know how this story ends, and some don't. I was about 5 weeks along, and scheduled my first doctor's appointment for a few weeks later. When we showed up, she did an ultrasound, and said that she was seeing a fetus that was about 5 weeks old, and it should be about 9 weeks. In short, I had miscarried at about the time I discovered I was pregnant.

There was no heartbeat. There was no movement. I remember how still and quiet the exam room was. I remember that my feet were cold. Someone reached out to hold my hand - Andy, warm and familiar - was there, thank heavens. After I dressed and the doctor returned, she explained my options: I could wait, which I had already done without even knowing, I could take some medicine to flush it out, or I could have a procedure. We both agreed the medicine was the best choice.

Several days later, I was no longer pregnant. I thank Heavenly Father for a husband, parents, sisters, and friends who saw me through something unexpected and painful. Who won't let me think that my chance is over. Who talked me through the pain, brought me food, and gave me a million hugs.

I debated whether I should tell anyone this. First of all, it's kind of sad. And second of all, I know people who have been through worse than this; really, I don't have much to complain about, because we're okay. In fact, we're better than ever. I'm happy to be in relationships where a trial (or two, or a hundred) can bring us closer to the Savior, in turn, bringing us closer together.

It is because of this that I feel a renewed sense of hope and that my grumpiness is fading. I'm glad you all get to experience it with me, in one way or another.