This past friday I had an ultrasound appointment at the clinic and an arranged time to meet with the pregnancy nurse. Remember how I told you I was essentially mute this last week because of anxiety?


Here is the thing: I saw a heartbeat on a screen when I was just over six weeks pregnant. I was hopeful to see it, but had also prepared myself for the reality that it could very well be too early for such a magical moment. Seeing the flicker of a tiny heart brought me so much comfort and peace and happiness.

But then there was this massive gap of space between week 6 of my pregnancy and week 8.

I had SEEN the flicker. I was attached. I had expectations.

The darkness of “what if” began to hover over me. Consume me. Every thought was swiftly countered with, “STOP! Stop thinking the worst!”

I was most freaked because it was not clear if Mom would be able to come with me to the appointment. For some reason I had been ok going to the 6 week scan on my own. I knew if I had not seen a heartbeat that it was not necessarily the end. But I needed some hand holding for 8 weeks. I needed to know that if bad shit went down that I had someone who could drive while I cried.

By the Wednesday before the scan Mom was sure she could get some time off to join me. Then it was just coasting to friday morning. 48 hours went by in a haze.

Friday morning arrived and I was stressed. We took W to school and then drove the long drive to the clinic. I was early for my appointment but I went ahead and had my blood drawn at the lab and signed in for an ultrasound. An hour before my scan time a tech called my name. OH THANK HEAVENS!

We all went back to the scan rooms and I pleaded with the universe to help me through. I started crying the moment the tech began. Mom squeezed my hand tight and I just breathed in and out and hoped like a motherfucker. It seemed like forever, but finally the tech exclaimed, “and there is the flicker of the heart”.


She took the measurements of everything from heartbeat to the size of Tartan. Massive relief.

We then went back and met with the nurse who began the paper process of cutting my apron strings from the clinic. Two more weeks of hormone supplementation. And at week ten one more scan at the clinic. It is utterly unreal and yet I have been dreaming of the moment for ages.

If you are a stat and number and image nerd you can go to the page I set up for that. If you are not really into tickers and shit don’t click on the link.

Part III is still to come. Teaser: I found an OB! And now I need to find another one.

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