...but it didn't.

All over (more or less) the day before yesterday - a morning of gentle cramping with one or two "ouch" ones, and two lumps of gestational sac slithered out, about 20 minutes apart, around lunchtime. Since then, there's been the usual period-like aftermath, with a few bigger clots and one more suspicious lump today, following a bit more cramping; so, physically, a miscarriage at 6 1/2 weeks is even easier than one at rising 8 weeks, in my experience.
Mentally, who knows? The miscarriage was about 2 hours before I put my beloved old dog to sleep (see other blog), and she was a far more significant part of my life, obviously, so the emotions I may or may not be feeling about the miscarriage are buried in my sorrow at losing Copper. I think that the predominant feeling is one of closure, actually: the weekend was the end of an era in so many ways. That ship has sailed; I can truely say I hope I'm never pregnant again, which is not something I could have said a couple of months ago, so if this last debacle has helped me move on in a more focussed way, then maybe it wasn't so futile as all that, after all.