I just keep telling myself, it could be worse.
I could have been abducted by aliens, in which case I'd be strapped to a similar bed, only there'd be a probe up my ass. And my baby would have a big green head.
Could be leprosy, in which case people would, similarly, be expressing concern from a distance, but my skin would be falling off at the same time.
I've been having complications with the pregnancy. It seems that the baby, who is obviously her mother's child, because she proved to be a klutz at conception, did not manage to get herself firmly implanted in a decent position in my body. Thus, part of the placenta is not attached to me. Thus, I bleed. A LOT.
I went for another ultrasound, this one with Jake at my side. (Jake, intrigued and perhaps somewhat alarmed, mumbled that the ultrasound video looked like something attacking the Enterprise, which caused me to punch him weakly... Which, under other circumstances, might have caused him to yelp, "Abuse! Abuse and harassment!" Other than that, we were quiet and watched the screen like good adults...) According to the technician/nurse-people, the baby has a good solid heartbeat, and plenty of organs to work with. AND, the cutest, tiniest little fingers I've ever seen in my life. S/he has this compulsive habit of touching her head, as though simultaneously contemplating the mysteries of the Divine, and checking her eyebrows for traces of amniotic fluid. Ohhhhh, such cuteness! S/he looks so very peaceful, so tranquil, so... so blissfully oblivious. S/he'll be a daydreamer, like her parents. You can tell already.
(They SAY fetuses just make involuntary movements and jerks a lot of the time... Maybe, but you can tell the difference between a hiccup and an intrigued, deliberate head-poke.)
So... s/he's fine. But, I have to keep him/her that way, which is the hard part.
To keep her/him alive, and healthy, and growing, and inside me, I have to lay down in bed. Twenty-four hours a day, until two weeks after the bleeding stops, or until s/he's born, whichever comes first. I'm allowed up to go to the bathroom. And that's IT. Otherwise, s/he could be born too early.
Jake brings me food. Sometimes he brings me commentaries on things I don't understand. The family asks, "how ya feelin?" And I lay around.
Am currently reading the Bible, because I've never managed to read it all the way through, and I'm HOPING I don't make it all the way through this time before I can get up and forget all this bedrest crap.
It's only making things worse for my own health. I'm less hungry, because I never move, so I eat less. And if I eat less, I can't keep the damned prenatal vitamins down. I have backaches that leave me moaning that I've been stabbed. I get these headaches that won't go away for days. I have leg pains and hip pains that make me toss and turn all night. I'm rapidly becoming more and more depressed about being completely helpless.
It wasn't bad enough that Jake had to lose everything... I've lost my apartment -- the first time I've ever been evicted from anyplace. I've had to drop out of school for the quarter. I've lost contact with a number of friends and acquaintances. I've lost both my jobs. And I'm bored as fuck. And I HURT, all over. Not just aches and pains, either, but like, screamingly-awful hurting...
It could be worse, right?
RIGHT?
Yeah. At least I have Jake, and we have the baby.
And I don't have a probe up my ass.
Think good thoughts and say prayers for me, okay?
Love,
~Helena*