Week 11.
My first scan is on Thursday, marking the 12 week point in my pregnancy. Everyone but me is excited about it, and nobody seems to understand why I'm not. Is it so hard to fathom that for every happy story there's a sad one? A lot of women sit in that hospital room and get told I'm so sorry Mrs so and so but there's no heartbeat, the baby died, we'll have to take it away...
I'm sure they don't put it quite that way but it amounts to the same thing. I'm terrified of being told my little bundle of hope is hopeless. I'm scared of walking out of there feeling all those sad eyes on me from everyone I know. I'm reluctant to even think about how I'll look at myself. While it was an unseen, unfelt dot of something, I could handle it better. But this past week my belly is protruding and my sickness is worse and four people so far have touched my belly with those enthusiastic hands and excited smiles. It's become more real. It's taken on some genuine meaning, more than a little dot I wish I could forget about so I didn't worry this much.
As soon as they say it's all alright I will feel ok. I know I will. As soon as they tell me everything is as it should be, I'll brighten. For now I spend every minute thinking about this baby or thinking the worst. and I cannot switch my brain off. I cannot switch off.
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