I have a doctor’s appointment and an early ultrasound tomorrow morning.
And yes, this means I’m pregnant. I know, I’m lucky, but it’s so very early, and so very much could go wrong, and I haven’t been allowing myself to really believe it yet. And last week there was some very light spotting, which could mean nothing, or something very bad.
Because of Teddy’s loss, my GP, who is awesome, is monitoring me closely. I’m grateful for this, especially as I know it’s more for my peace of mind than anything actually, well, medical. At the same time, I’m dreading tomorrow and I want it over with because tomorrow I’ll be faced with a visual – either of a reassuring embryonic heartbeat or of disaster – and no matter what that visual is, I won’t be able to fend off reality any longer. I’ll either be attached or regretting not being more attached when I could have been.
And let me just say for the record how much I hate ultrasound rooms, and how I resent hating them. Right now I’m so jealous of all those happy new mamas who are excited to see their babies for the first time, who don’t associate the gel and the monitor with heartbreak, that I could spit.
We found out about Teddy’s hernia on June 20, last year, and I associate these bright summer days with bad news and impending doom. I jump at shadows and shy at reassurances and happiness. We made the questionable decision to share the news with a select few family members and one of them said “Congratulations,” and “We’re so happy for you,” and I felt like I’d been cursed. It’s too early for congratulations, and I’ll be too scared to accept them for a while.
What I want from tomorrow is a good, strong embryonic heartbeat, and an “everything looks good,” but I won’t be surprised if there’s no heartbeat, or if the measurements are frighteningly off, or if it’s ectopic, or molar, or a tumorous growth. I half expect the ultrasound tech to find a tiny neon sign floating in my uterus that says, What were you thinking? Are you insane?
Not being surprised, unfortunately, won’t mean that I’m not knocked on my ass by disappointment and pain.
This time, I’m not asking for anything, not pleading, not expecting. I’ve tried to ask, and the words just don’t come out. That is not the way I pray, now. So I’m trying to be open to whatever comes, and to give myself the freedom to scream, wail, laugh hysterically, and/or kick things, whatever comes.
Edited to add: I do realize I come off as the most appallingly ungrateful wet blanket in this post. This is (or could be) very good news, even if it’s tentative good news, and I’m hoping as hard as I can that I will feel more grateful and hopeful tomorrow.