This post was nearly written at 3am. That's not usually a very creative time for me. I'm usually asleep. Last night however, I was wide awake, and if it wasn't such an unseasonably cool night, I would've settled myself on the couch to pour my heart onto this page.
Almost two weeks ago now, I had my 12 week NT scan. This is a bit of a milestone. My husband and I were the first clients that day, and we enjoyed resting alone in the waiting room with a magnificent view of the gardens in South Bank. We were soon called in to talk to the genetic counsellor and after our interesting discussion regarding family genetics, were we ushered into the dimly lit, calm, sonographer's room. I laid on the bed, holding my husband's hand, and watched the TV screen intently for a look at what I hoped to be a healthy and very much alive foetus. I was in luck. I laid there silently, possibly with a tight grip on poor hubby's hand as I watched images of our baby on the screen. I think I was holding my breath. The lovely sonographer was a wonderful person and she didn't waste too much time just viewing the baby, she searched for its heartbeat too. Whoosh whoosh whoosh. That was music to my ears. I relaxed, and silent tears tracked my cheeks while a little smile settled and did not leave for possibly hours.
The next week or so was pure bliss. I felt so happy. My baby was alive.
The next chance I have at confirming this wonderful news is now still three weeks away. The euphoria started to wane. My tummy is not growing any bigger, I can no longer feel twinges. And the crutch that was aspirin and progesterone in the first trimester are no longer there to lean on. My anxiety starts to build.
What if the aspirin and/or progesterone was keeping the baby alive? Now that I've finished, could it no longer be viable? Could my baby die? Is it still alive? I won't know for another three weeks.
My husband and I entertained the idea of buying a doppler to search for the heartbeat for reassurance. After much research however, we decided that may only increase our anxiety if we were unsuccessful in finding it. We aren't trained, afterall.
So I wait.
And apparently wake at 3am and worry.
Almost two weeks ago now, I had my 12 week NT scan. This is a bit of a milestone. My husband and I were the first clients that day, and we enjoyed resting alone in the waiting room with a magnificent view of the gardens in South Bank. We were soon called in to talk to the genetic counsellor and after our interesting discussion regarding family genetics, were we ushered into the dimly lit, calm, sonographer's room. I laid on the bed, holding my husband's hand, and watched the TV screen intently for a look at what I hoped to be a healthy and very much alive foetus. I was in luck. I laid there silently, possibly with a tight grip on poor hubby's hand as I watched images of our baby on the screen. I think I was holding my breath. The lovely sonographer was a wonderful person and she didn't waste too much time just viewing the baby, she searched for its heartbeat too. Whoosh whoosh whoosh. That was music to my ears. I relaxed, and silent tears tracked my cheeks while a little smile settled and did not leave for possibly hours.
The next week or so was pure bliss. I felt so happy. My baby was alive.
The next chance I have at confirming this wonderful news is now still three weeks away. The euphoria started to wane. My tummy is not growing any bigger, I can no longer feel twinges. And the crutch that was aspirin and progesterone in the first trimester are no longer there to lean on. My anxiety starts to build.
What if the aspirin and/or progesterone was keeping the baby alive? Now that I've finished, could it no longer be viable? Could my baby die? Is it still alive? I won't know for another three weeks.
My husband and I entertained the idea of buying a doppler to search for the heartbeat for reassurance. After much research however, we decided that may only increase our anxiety if we were unsuccessful in finding it. We aren't trained, afterall.
So I wait.
And apparently wake at 3am and worry.
