Today we went for our 12-week pregnancy scan. I say ‘second time lucky’ in the title because almost six months to the day, we made the same journey to the same hospital where we discovered our missed miscarriage.
Going back to Frimley Green hospital was scary for us. We were petrified it might be history repeating itself. As we walked into the entrance, it was deja vu all over again. We even went to get a drink at the same coffee shop, stiff with anxiety like the first time.
It didn’t help that we had to wait around for almost 45 minutes to see the sonographer. I’d forgotten to bring anything to read, and I had no service on my phone, so it was a long, slow, foot-tapping wait.
Finally, we were called in by a very brusque nurse. I felt wracked with anxiety. I told her about last time we were there. I wanted her to know why we were both so quiet and monosyllabic. She asked me if I’d prefer her to turn the monitor off until she could confirm all was OK. I said I’d just close my eyes…
The cold gel, and the same probing on my stomach to last time ensued. My eyes were shut tightly, waiting for the urgent pressing down, the questions, the panic. But it didn’t come. ‘Do you want to see the heartbeat?’ the nurse said, or something like that, and then I knew it was going to be OK.
There’s a full-blown baby growing inside of me, guys. Not a featureless blob with undefined features. A wiggly little alien, with arms, legs, fingers… what I didn’t expect was for the scan to take so long and that it would be so thorough. They’re not just checking for the heartbeat. They looking at everything. The symmetry of the brain, that all limbs are present and correct, and to measure the gap at the nape of the neck for Down’s.
Everything was blessedly ‘normal’. It was like a dream, as opposed to the nightmare of last time. The baby is alive and well. When she probed, it turned over like it couldn’t be bothered, like ‘get off me, I’m sleeping!’ I welled up, tears of utter relief. I sometimes thought we’d never get this far.
Only shocker. £20 for four photos, they charged! Can you believe that? Also, have you heard of nub theory? Based on this, I’d bet my house the alien is a boy. He has a big, flipping stacked nub, that seems to be pointing over a 30-degree angle. We now call it Big Nub. And he measures 12+5, rather than what he actually is: 12+3, based on the IVF dates. So official due date is 29 April 2020 (although I’m still going on the more pleasing-sounding 1 May 2020…).
And do you know what? Rather than being so grateful that after two years of relentless IVF and the cruelest of miscarriages it looks like we have a perfect little baby, I’m thinking: but I really want a girl. I mean. I’ll leave you to make your own minds up about what an idiot I am.
Next milestone? I’m going to go for a 16-week private gender scan. I cannot bear waiting two more months to see the little one again. Plus I’m desperate to know: boy or girl.
Shit’s getting real.
Find out what happened next.