We were ecstatic.
We took pictures, planned rooms, thought about names for either gender, made doctor visits, the whole 9 yards.
Then, just a few weeks later, the doctor told us the baby was gone. It was over. There was nothing anyone could do.
They sent us home with pain medication and told my wife to start that regiment while stopping her progesterone (which is required by her body to sustain the baby's life during pregnancy).
We were devastated. Broken, forlorn. But in all of the pain, my wife just refused to give up hope... it just didn't feel right. She never filled the pain meds and she refused to stop taking the progesterone (at the doctor's and nurse's coddling disapproval).
We prayed. Others prayed. Hundreds prayed, perhaps more.
We didn't Know this baby was alive, we didn't Know God would heal/sustain this child, but we prayed for a miracle anyway - hoped for the best, prepared for the worst. As I said in the midst of it, we had "cautious optimism interrupted by bouts of terror and fear"
Here's the story of baby Hope