“Ultimately it is not the grief that stops us from starting life over. But the fear of losing it all again” – Christina Rasmussen

Secretly, I’ve downloaded another ‘track my baby’ app for my iPhone. Good idea? Hmm, not sure yet. Even though I don’t want to ‘talk about it’, I still would like to be informed as to what is actually happening in there. So far my daily updates have reinformed me that my ‘blastocyst’ has now transformed into an ‘embryo’ and my cervix is now well and truly ‘plugged up’.  How delightful! According to this week, the umbilical cord is in formation and the abdominal cavity, limbs and many of the organs are ‘sprouting roots’. So scientific. So clinical. It’s just what I need! The word ‘baby’ has been banned in our house. If one must refer to that which is ‘growing’ in thee, thou shall refer to it as its ‘scientific’ title; embryo. I know, I must seem crazy, but my craziness is the only thing keeping me sane.

The day has arrived for my first ultrasound; 7 weeks and 4 days. Dread. I attend the ultrasound alone. I told hubby he doesn’t need to come along, “You’ve seen it all before. It’s just a blob with a flicker…”. I know if he tagged along, the look of unease he’ll show as he watches me in my state of worry will only exacerbate the situation, and instead of being able to ‘act cool’, I’d probably just cry. I don’t want to do this, but there’s no choice. I’m the woman. I bear the children. If something’s wrong then I’m the hero saving him from enduring something he doesn’t have to. I tell myself that anyway. Yes, I’m some awesome type of superhero!

I feel as if I’ve been sitting for hours in the waiting room and plea with the receptionist to use the bathroom, as the 1 litres of water I’m forced to drink pains me. She instructs to go “only a little bit!” Oh Lord, a little bit? What a task that was (yeah, try it one time!) After my hours of waiting (ok, more like 20 minutes) and just before it’s time for my scan, the fire alarm sirens blare through the clinic. Practise fire drill. Are you kidding? I’m forced out, along with the elderly, infirm and the physicians onto the street. Should I just run? It’s a sign! Ah, toughen up princess… Or should I say, awesome superhero…!

It’s finally my turn. I rest in silence on the table while the sonographer reads through my ‘referral’. She exits and seems to have an impromptu discussion with her colleagues about what she’s read. It must be interesting, or puzzling, or…? Everything is so quiet, but my body is roaring… no, not like a lioness roar… but more like an ear-piercing, head-splitting shrieking roar. The echoing of my breath is deafening… my heartbeat is blasting through my ears. I feel my sweat pooling on my palms. My lips quiver and the veins in my neck bulge as I hold my breath. My eyes won’t blink. Just breathe… breathe would you!!

I stare at the roof. I can’t look at the screen until she says with glee, “there’s your baby and there’s the heart beat”. A sweeping breathe of relief fills me. The blood starts pumping again at the rate it should. Hello, little one… oops, I mean… there’s my embryo! Anticipated arrival: 13^th July 2013.

Oh, how people long for this moment. To see that screen. To see that flicker. But pathetically, I can’t wait for the screen to be turned off. It’s just another thing on the checklist.

Obstacle 2: heartbeat = complete.

7 week & 4 days

“Every day is a new beginning. Take a deep breath and start again”.