Little trip to heaven...
My stomach is a clenched fist.
With me in the waiting area are several other women at various stages of pregnancy. Some have kids already, chasing each other around and arguing over plastic toys. Some have big bellies and some are barely showing. Some look happy. Some look upset. Some are alone. Others sport uncomfortable husbands and beaming mothers. We are a mixed bag.
A nurse opens the door and a woman walks through. She’s clutching a small piece of paper. It’s an ultrasound photograph. Two family members immediately leap up, talking excitedly over one another: “How far along are you? How fast was its heartbeat? Let me see!” They are all tearfully thrilled.
My stomach turns.
I am so nervous.
The last time I had an ultrasound it was not good news. My doctor had been unable to locate a heartbeat with the Doppler. She ordered an ultrasound to confirm that the baby was still alive. It was not. The technician was young and awkward. He didn’t know what to say, so he sent for another person to break the news I already knew.
That day was terrible and I am not eager to repeat it.
Finally, my name is called.
I spring up, trying to act like everything is fine. I am holding it together. I am smiling at the nice southern blond woman who is instructing me to empty my bladder before we begin, and then wrap my naked self in a flimsy sheet. I comply.
My hands are shaking.
The room is small and dark. The computer screen still shows the uterus of the woman who was there before me. I close my eyes.
The technician is chatting with me now. She’s trying to make me feel comfortable by telling jokes and laughing before she thrusts a condom-covered phallic object into the place where phallic objects typically go. This type of ultrasound provides the best picture in the early stages, she explains.
Whatever. I don’t care. Just be alive.
About thirty seconds pass as she clicks the keyboard and moves around to find the picture. I am not breathing. I am afraid to look.
And suddenly, there it is. My baby. On the screen. It’s heart is beating 160 thumps per minute. Its legs and arms are moving. It is an inch long. It’s nine weeks and three days old. It’s alive.
I burst into tears. I sob. I am relieved. I can breathe again. I can’t stop looking at my baby.
I am wishing my husband was here.
**
That was a week ago and I’m still on a bit of a high from it, but as each day passes I get more and more anxious for the next conformation milestone. I know it will be like this until I’ve passed the 20-week mark.
I have a picture, of course, which I immediately emailed to family members. It’s funny how all ultrasound pictures I’ve ever seen of other people’s babies always look like big blobs of nothing, but my ultrasound picture looks exactly like a baby! No really, it does! So tiny, but you can see fingers, legs, arms and even an eye. So cool.
My husband is still on the road. He comes home tomorrow.
Hopefully he’ll be in town for the next ultrasound so I don’t have to cry alone.