Week 7

What a horrible, no good, very bad, week.  I don't even know what there really is to say except that I haven't really gotten out of bed in days.  Daddy R has been the biggest angel in all of the world.  He gets home at 7pm from a long day of work, cooks dinner, walks the dog, and cleans the kitchen all by himself.  Then he waits on me hand and foot.  I have been bleeding up a storm.  And when I move I bleed more.  I don't even know if I am still pregnant at all anymore with all of the blood, clots, and other stuff that has been coming out of me.  I've asked the midwives and always get the same response--it's just a waiting game.  But it's the worst waiting game in all of the world.  I feel panic every time I see more blood.  I feel helpless, emotionally exhausted, alone, scared, and generally depressed.  I just want an answer--yes, your baby will be just fine.  Or no, your baby will not be fine and this is the end of this pregnancy.  Instead, it's just a roller coaster of "Well this blood looks maybe more brown" and "I only bleed a tiny bit today" to "I think I am bleeding out and about to die and nobody cares."  I have called the midwives so many times that they have specifically told me that they no longer want to hear from me unless: 1. I bleed through a pad an hour 2. I develop a fever or 3. The pain becomes excruciating.  So I sit and wait and cry.  Because there is nothing that anybody can do.

7 Weeks, wishing time would speed up