“People inspire you, or they drain you- pick them wisely”- Hans F Hansen

I’m still living out of my skin. I wish I could just hide in a cave for the next few months and come back out when life is back to normal. Wait, what is normal?

This week I have my very first 3D ultrasound. It’s the first scan we’ve booked privately with a referral from my GP. My doc tries to explain to me how unnecessary an ultrasound at this stage is, but rather fetal movement count or something along those lines, is a more appropriate indication of health. He’s pretty much telling us to save our money. He could probably tell from my face that I wasn’t interested in any  rational decision on what’s considered necessary or not. I don’t care the cost. Take all my money. It’s irrelevant. I need peace. I need reassurance. Is this what we call desperation? I assume he wrote the referral anyway on the grounds of ‘mental health’ on my behalf… and no, I don’t want it for a pretty 3D profile picture for my Facebook page. Truthfully, even though Little One’s been kicking away, I need to see him to make sure everything is still as it should be. I’ve conjured up every possible fear inside and I need a professional to tell me that it’s all ok.

Wow, these private facilities with their leather lounges and flat screen TVs are definitely a far cry from the public health trimmings. Feature walls and flowers in vases… Yes, vases! And the pens aren’t all tired up to the desk. We’re off to a good start. The lovely doctor reads the referral in front of us and soon realises the nature of the appointment. The whole time she is amazingly accommodating, giving constant commentary on our ‘beautiful baby’ who has a ‘wonderful, strong heart’… and yes… still a boy with his legs remaining in typical male fashion. She clicks the scanner over to 3D mode. I feel a sense of relief when I can see his ears, nose, mouth, fingers, toes… it’s all accounted for. At the same time I’m taken back. I can see him but I don’t know this face. He doesn’t seem familiar. While looking at the pixelated screen, no thoughts of grand admiration come to mind, but a huge sense of relief.

A week later we fly to Queensland for our friend’s wedding. For a moment in time, over this short weekend, I begin to forget how scared I am, and for a second I feel like, maybe, I’m normal again. It’s amazing what good company and the celebration of love can do for the soul. So much so, I finally posted my first ‘tummy’ photo on Facebook. That’s got to be a good sign, right?

A physician once said, “The best medicine for humans is love”. Someone asked, “What if it doesn’t work?” He smiled and said, “Increase the dose.”