The fear is palpable now, as I head into what feels like the danger zone.
Ezra died when I was 33 weeks, 5 days pregnant. The first indication we had that anything was wrong was a slightly elevated protein test at my 32 week OB appointment. This was followed by another test, which several days later resulted in my being directed to the hospital for more tests. Which all came back within the high range of normal. And so we were sent home. And Ezra likely died on the way home.
I don't question the doctors' decision to send me home. Nothing about the test results suggested I needed to stay in the hospital. Nothing suggested that Ezra wasn't safe. The light was yellow...proceed with caution. I was scheduled for an appointment to return 5 days later so they could keep an eye on things. Who knew that would end up being a post-partum appointment.
I know all too well how quickly all can go drastically wrong. So the fact that everything is healthy and good as I type, only gets me so far. What might tomorrow bring? What might the story be by next week?
Yet the other thing that feels palpable is meeting Sunflower in person. I feel like he's so close I can taste it. Less than 6-9 weeks to go. Unbelievable. Despite swearing that I would do nothing to prepare for Sunflower, I found myself spending a day off last week doing load after load of baby wash, and folding tiny onesies and footsie pajamas. The nursery is organized, all our baby things sorted. I've chosen a pediatrician, picked a mohel. What can I say? The nesting instinct has taken over.
Half the time I find myself wishing that I could just be put in a coma and woken when its all over - when there's a healthy happy son in my arms. But since that's unlikely to happen, I guess I'll be getting through this the same way I've made it this far - one day at a time.
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