So I guess this is it. This is me finally acknowledging that what is happening to me is really happening. And that makes the numbness I've been feeling this week just intensify.
On Tuesday, at what should have been my 12 week scan, a happy, joyful time of telling people our wonderful news, instead I was handed the impossible news that my baby - a wriggling bundle with a happy little heart - was actually not going to make it to term. The sonographer told me immediately that my baby's nuchal translucency was 10.8mm - some of the highest she had ever seen. She also showed me on screen the fluid build up in its heart, abdomen and all around its body. She referred me straight away to fetal medicine, who could slot me in on Thursday. In fact, so severe is the case of cystic hygroma and hydrops fetalis, the sonographer told me she would be surprised if the baby's heart continued beating to make it to that appointment two days later.
My husband wasn't with me at the scan. We had agreed that, due to my last pregnancy with our daughter (also fraught with medical issues from week 30 onwards), and all the scans I needed, he would "save" his work allowance for thr 20 week and later scans if needed. So you can imagine the phone call I had to make as I walked out of the hospital. Telling your husband you're carrying a child that is likely to die is one of the most appalling things I have ever had to do.
But it isn't the last. Following our consultant appointment on Thursday, where the doctor kindly but firmly confirmed the prognosis, we knew we couldn't do anything but termination. How could we continue knowing there was no hope, and things are just going to get worse and worse for our little person? I can't bear the thought of it.
So next week we are going to have a medical termination (TFMR). I have scoured the internet looking for accurate stories of what that will be like. I know it will involve labour. I know it will involve pain. I know I will have to make decisions about seeing the baby, or making memories, but none of that feels normal or palatable, and so now I am just numb. I'm dreading it ever second we get closer to it. I don't want to do it. I'm afraid I might cry all the way through and never stop.
I'm so lucky to already have a 2 and a half yr old following a miscarriage in our first pregnancy. But I look at her and can't help feel more sadness. People tell me to take comfort in her - that I'm lucky to have her. And I just can't. It doesn't feel lucky to be going through this. It feels like the worst f-ing luck of all. I'm getting irritable, losing my patience, making inappropriate jokes - I do not know how to cope with this. I don't know how I'll be able to look anyone in the face after this.
Anyway. There it is. The ugly truth.