It’s 10am and I’m writing this as I wait in the Early Pregnancy Unit at my local hospital for hopefully my last blood test of this whole ordeal.
We’re looking to see if my HCG level is low enough to return a NOT PREGNANT result because until then my body still in some capacity thinks it’s pregnant due to the hormone release that surged over the last month.
To get to the place for the blood test, I have to walk through the maternity dept and the big bellies there today are a’plenty. I mean, unsurprisingly I guess.
I feel like I float through the corridor, head down, bellies protruding out at me belonging to expectant mothers who line the walls waiting to be seen…or to give birth? I don’t know. I’m no expert but some of them are huge. Surely they’re ready to roll. I’m so amazed by them and what’s shortly about to happen inside and outside of their unbelievable bodies.
I catch a glimpse at some of their faces and I realise that no matter what stage of pregnancy (or loss) you’re at, it’s hard to relax. The mummy’s to be all around me look anxious too. I wonder what they’re thinking and how they got to be at this point.
The girl sat next to me is 11 weeks. She too looks desperate to get in the scan room to be reassured that baby is coming along nicely. As she emerges a few minutes later it’s hard to tell if she’s relieved or concerned. God I hope all’s ok.
We’re all on different journeys I know. No two pregnancies are the same. Some women are pretty level headed about it all, others are wrecks.
And this unit really is the place of both dreams and nightmares.
The woman across from me I’ve seen before. We’ve both been sat here waiting together and I assumed she was pregnant and all was well. I doubt she thought the same about me a few weeks back. Well, this morning she’s reading the leaflet on ectopic pregnancy. The same one that sits on my bedside table at home. No way. Not you as well? She’s with her other half and her gorgeous little girl who must be 4. Is she reading the leaflet out of interest or is this really happening to her too?
Another nervous looking woman waits and is beckoned into the scan room with her husband. She reemerges shortly after to go for a wee which according to the sign means she’s less than 7 weeks. The light goes off in the room, the scan is happening. Good luck mamma.
I guess the point of this blog is mainly to distract myself as I wait for the needle. Give me something to do. The magazines here do nothing to lure me in. I’m certainly not interested in Heat Mags coverage of ‘Mel B’s 10 years of hell’. Or Kim becoming a ‘pregnant divorcee’. Or baby ‘Chiam’ – what.the.actual.hell. What a load of complete shit. Why do we even pick up ‘celeb’ mags anymore these days? Are we not better than that? A tad more evolved? Gross.
Anyway, still waiting.
Another couple turn up from A&E. She looks stricken. He is carrying a folder. She grips at his hand. Fuck.
My blood test happens with Danielle, the lovely nurse that has seen me each visit and who I cried on weeks ago as she was scanning me through all the blood.
I ask her a bit more about when I can start folic acid again to help prep my body for the next transfer. She asks consultant George. He tells me that I shouldn’t have that for a 3 month period as it can interfere with methotrexate. But he reassures me that the IVF Clinic could do a blood test nearer the time to do a folic acid count. Ok cool.
As I leave, the unit is filling up even more with couples needing answers. And as I turn the corner for the exit, a woman enters in tears, clutching at a folder.