9 weeks. I made it to 9 weeks without anything going wrong. Surely, surely this time, everything will be fine. I’ve done so many pee-on-a-stick tests. They all came out positive. This time, there is a baby there. Last time was just an aberration. My body wasn’t ready for it. I rushed to do a blood test too soon. That’s all it was. This time, I waited. This time I was more careful. I did everything I was supposed to. I took all my vitamins. I didn’t stress out about anything. I didn’t drive to work.
These were my thoughts as I waited in the waiting room for my first antenatal visit. The doctor’s rules were that he doesn’t see pregnant women until they were 9 weeks. I had waited, so impatiently, for those last 3 weeks to go by. And now, finally I was here. My husband waited there with me, nervous as well, but happy. We were going to see our baby for the first time. I couldn’t stop the what-if questions though. What if something was wrong again? What if...? Will I be able to handle another miscarriage?
Finally, we were admitted into the doctors’ rooms. He took my information and then off we went to the ultrasound room. The gel was cold on my skin and I shivered while the fear and anticipation tangled. I watched the screen as he moved the wand over me. And then he said
“Hmm”.
The fear won and my mind started screaming.
“Not again. Please, not again.”
Finally, he spoke.
“There is some cause for concern.”
“You should be nine weeks not six.”
“I think we should do some blood tests.”
The next day he called.
“Well, we knew there was cause for concern...”
“..Progesterone levels too low for a viable foetus ...”
“..Possible need to do an evacuation ...”
Two days later, I started to bleed. Again. It happened to me again.
We went back to see him on Monday.
“... the foetus hasn’t grown..”
“... need to do an evac today..”
When it was over, I wasn’t pregnant anymore. The baby was gone. Days passed. I began to heal. I can try again. The doctor will help me through the next one. He promised. I just have to wait a little while.
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