I have a second scan tomorrow.
The timing of this is All Wrong. Right now, I should be nearly 12 weeks pregnant. Let’s just say that this is NOT what I wanted to be having a scan for.
I don’t know any woman who welcomes the idea of an internal scan. With a slightly more challenging past, the idea of anything internal makes me want to jump off a cliff. Or throw the probe out the window – either’s fine, really.
And of course, it happens in the early pregnancy assessment unit. Lots of pregnant ladies. And then – me.
Today I’ve had enough of being strong and brave. I just want to wibble. My body is tired – which makes sense, since it’s been losing blood for over two weeks – and since my body doesn’t want to let go, it’s hard for my mind to let go too. Those times when it does, it’s haunted by images of precious friends dying in buildings reduced to rubble.
I love my son very dearly, but I feel like I’m not engaging well with him. And that hurts my heart, because he’s a loopy, incredibly extroverted little boy, who thrives on interaction and chat and play and I’m just not doing it as well as I should.
Historically, I don’t have a wonderful relationship with food. Though it’s improved, my tendancy is to veer wildly between excessive comfort eating and not eating. And the fight, in the middle of a dark time, not to slip into old unhelpful patterns is very, very hard.
I’m just so tired.
I’ve always loved the empty cross. It’s an amazing symbol – God triumphing death! Awesome! I’ve discovered a new love for the crucifix though. Because that bloodied, battered man hanging on that instrument of torture gives me hope – to know that I’m not alone, and that this is NEVER the end of the story.
It’s hard though. Hard to see the light when it’s not obvious. Today I realised something which frightened the living soul of me. Given that I have close friends on both sides of the Israel-Gaza conflict, there’s a very high chance that one set of dear friends are being attacked, wounded and killed by the other. Where’s the light in that?
It’s there. The tiniest little flicker, but it’s there. In the kind friends, loving prayers, and chocolate. In the the hugs from my husband and the clinging arms of my son. In the lives of those working and praying and hoping for peace, even when it seems doomed.