You know it's a really, really bad day when you go to bed crying and you wake up crying--with little periods of wakefulness in between just to make sure you can't get a truly healing rest. I woke up this morning asking M what I can possibly do to feel better. Because the pain is certainly not going away; it's just getting worse.

I guess the only thing I know how to do is write about my pain.

I'm no fool. I can put 2 and 2 together. Thanks, Geohde, for reminding me of the name of the condition the perinatologist thinks our baby has--bilateral renal agenesis. Yes, it's fatal. Dr. Google tells me that it's extremely rare; only 1 in 5000 babies have it. As M and I remember what the tech told us (he said he finally found the bladder, but it was empty, which was why he had trouble finding it in the first place), and then think about the low fluid levels, we realize we know exactly what the doctor will tell us on Monday: This child will not live. There is no hoping left. There is only raw pain.

When I drove home from the hospital yesterday, it fleetingly occurred to me how beautiful of a fall day it was. I always love Friday; it's my favorite day of the week. M and I were going to go shopping for baby furniture, which I was really looking forward to. We were probably even going to start a registry! I was just waiting for the doctor to tell me everything was fine with the baby, and then we would start making the calls to family members to tell them the sex. It's a boy. We even developed a short list of names earlier this week.

I'm a planner. My life revolves around my plans, and when I'm in limbo, as with fertility treatments, I feel incomplete. An even worse feeling, however, is when the plan gets disrupted. The most recent time this occurred was when my college boyfriend of 2 and a half years broke up with me a few months after I graduated. I was going to marry him and follow him to grad school. Instead, I was forced to imagine a life without marriage--at least in the near future.

We were so ready to welcome our little boy on March 25. I was ready to quit my job, quit a bunch of my activities and start scoping out the Mommy groups. I had all my maternity clothes, and I had decided I would start wearing them to work next week. My friend in our Bible study group had just announced her pregnancy and I was looking forward to us sharing this time together, eventually arranging play dates for our children.

Our baby boy fetus is now 20 weeks old.

My mother told me my brother was really broken up about the news. He kept saying, "And after all they've been through." He's right--how much pain is one couple really supposed to take?

Does this sound weird? I want to start treatments again. As soon as possible. I just can't give up on the plan. People always say you need a grieving period, but all I can hear is the clock ticking away.

I just wish this didn't have to get worse before it gets better. As you might have expected, there's no way I can carry this baby to term. I respect the decisions of those who might, but I cannot bear to be pregnant with a child that can't live without me. The only question will be how soon I can be...induced...and how bad the labor is going to be. I have no idea how they even do it. I mean, the baby is alive, so how does this work? Why are M and I forced to make these decisions?