Friday, December 19, 2008

Can I just feel bad enough to feel good?

I couldn't sleep for a gap last night because I kept floating to the surface with a love poem about lasagna. This is how I live, breaking the surface. I have emerged from the first trimester, fully human. I feel so damn good in fact that I spent the last week fearing for my pregnancy - after all, for three months I wanted little more then a parapet from which to fling myself.



During that fog, in the darkest night, what I concluded about pregnancy was that pregnant women fall down stairs and are frequently menaced by bears. Stairs, my stairs, the ones I follow down and up in the dead of night again and again (and again) to the bathroom are almost magnetic in their head-long pull. It is all I can do with hand-rails and foresight to steady my descent. And the bears! They lumber magnificently toward me with an air of inevitability. What is inevitable? How is one to know. If they reach me, will I not wake up?

Feeling so unaccountably normal leads me to suspect that perhaps something is terribly wrong. How can I walk around glowing if I am only NOT a graveyard because I JUST DON'T KNOW IT YET. I lay around on the couch with my hands on my belly feeling for a kick. Quicken baby, quicken!

17 weeks

We spoke to a genetic counselor two days ago about the results of a quad screen blood test, which were overwhelmingly in our favor. The odds, as I average them (inaccurately) for convenience, are about 1 in 7646 for any one of the four chromosome abnormalities that the test screens for.

BUT, I cry, A MERE FOUR? WHY, THERE ARE AN UNTOLD INFINITY OF THINGS THAT COULD GO WRONG...

And if something goes wrong it wont be a mere one/seven-thousandth wrong, it will be 100 percent wrong and it will be me upon whom the probabilities have collapsed. Being that I suddenly feel so fully human in a condition that all my four months of experience have unerringly proven, thus far, to be inhumane... under those circumstances, symptomatically feeling well, I might think there was more to be known then that there is an (average) .007646 percent chance that one of four over infinity things could go wrong. Is there any test, an equation or a drop of my blood that can be divined for more gestalt results?

Is there any promise that could be made to me that would not be spurious, or illusive? I mean, after all whatever is wrong is already wrong, right? Wont this baby someday lie to my face? Will this baby never, even for a moment, consider suicide? Will this baby crash on a bicycle, get food poisoning, then someday die? I imagine PROBABILITY swirling, gossamer, around me like the individual strains of the instruments in a symphony. Infinite!

There is no security! I KNOW! RIGHT! How many times has this been said since people started saying things? I should have started cultivating an OKAYNESS about it a long time ago... I mean, with mixed results, I have. But this is the first time I have been personally responsible for inflicting a literal world full of hurt on someone else and I just want, more then anything, for them to stick around for it. In the best of health.

It is a simple wish, really.

No comments:

Archives

About Me