Nine and a half weeks.
Not the ridiculous movie that came out in the 80s, but the mile marker on my journey. So why should I care?
In May of last year, I had my first miscarriage at 12 weeks. Ultrasound measurements at the emergency room confirmed that the fetus had stopped growing at 9.5 weeks. So I was walking around clueless for 2.5 weeks (so was the rest of my body, apparently, as I had no symptoms otherwise).
A quick check of the calendar confirms that I now have three weeks between me and that magical 12.5 week ultrasound. It feels like a long, dark tunnel of time. I want to forget - to numb out, fix myself a really big drink, distract myself, do whatever it takes to not obsess over this particular time period. But what can I do? I'm reminded every time I switch from my tight daytime bra to my goofy-but-effective nighttime bra. Every time I stick a cracker in my mouth to abate or prevent nausea. Every time I... well, breathe.
So, this week I'm going to a conference hosted by my church. Thursday night, Friday night, heck - maybe even the Saturday workshop. Something about living for a cause. I went last year and really got a lot out of it - that is, until we did this public outreach thing. That was not a good experience for me (I'll not bother going into details). So I'm really afraid of that part. Otherwise I'm looking forward to guest lectures and really awesome worship music and prayer.
Where are you, Sam? Is your heart still beating? Are you still growing? I wish I could know. My soul groans to know.