Yesterday was a bit rough for me, for various reasons. One of them was because I was eleven weeks and five days. That's the day that we found out, officially, that Quinn was dead.
Martin said he is glad that he doesn't automatically remember these dates. I agree - he's lucky. I'm not remembering them on purpose; it just happens. Now I know how a mom can have a bunch of kids and keep track of all their birthdays and their special events without difficulty. It seems to be hardwired.
But we're nearly out of sad 'milestones'. The only one left is her birth (a week from today, gestationally speaking); and of course her birth DAY, which I will always remember. Because I guess, in a way, I'm already a mom.
We have an ultrasound tomorrow. Part of me is terrified. I know I'm going to start crying whatever the news is. And I have no reason to think it will be bad news. This may be my last visit to the perinatology specialist - after this, I transition to the midwives again. Martin is able to come to tomorrow's appointment - he'll love all the high tech stuff in there. They've got the coolest ultrasound equipment I've ever seen, and a big tv mounted on the wall so the patient can view the images without twisting round.
I got a statement from my health insurance company yesterday for the last perinatologist appointment on the 12th of August. If I didn't have insurance coverage it would have cost over $500 for a 45 minute appointment and scan. We're very lucky that the university insurance covers pretty much all pregnancy-related claims. Some of the women in my expecting group aren't as fortunate.
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