R.I.P.: The Plan
I thought I would feel better today, emotionally speaking. Instead I feel, well . . . , worse. Yesterday’s scan was fantastic news, but it has made me feel even more vulnerable than I did before. I read in my Avoiding Miscarriage book that your odds of miscarriage go down significantly once a heartbeat is seen, but I don’t find statistics especially comforting these days. The odds of having two miscarriages in a row are not very high either and look how fan-fucking-tastic that worked out.
I have never made it this far in a pregnancy before: the first was a blighted ovum and the second had a non-viable heart-rate. Instead of making me feel more secure, yesterday’s scan made me feel more afraid, because now I feel like I have more to lose. I have read enough, perhaps too much, to know that this is not bad news, but we are far, far, far from being out of the metaphorical woods.
The Plan has come to its logical end. The pee sticks have reached their maximum darkness so continuing to test is useless. Just in case you were wondering what exactly $18 worth of Dollar Tree HPTS looked like all glued (yes, I had to glue them onto a piece of cardboard so my cat would stop knocking them over) neatly together, here you go: