Two weeks to wait.
Not moving; standing still.
Seeing whether you’ll leave naturally,
Or via op, or via pill.
We should have been announcing.
Hearts filled with total glee.
But instead, I sit here sad and quiet,
With a cup of luke-warm tea.
I turned 12 weeks pregnant,
A small bleed? We went in…
“Surely it’s just stretching?” I thought,
My mind began to spin.
Sam Smith on the radio.
Singing about ‘goodbyes’.
“A bad omen?” I wonder.
Praying hard, I close my eyes.
Two different types of ultrasound,
And neither show good news.
The baby stopped developing,
And I am so confused.
I’ve still been feeling nauseous?!
My bump has still been growing?!
I’ve still been craving crazy food?!
How did it stop without me knowing?!
“The hormones”, the kind Nurse tells me.
“That’s why you still feel sick.”
Then she explains lots of things to us,
None of which stick.
I can’t move forward yet,
I still don’t understand.
Six months of trying for you,
This is not the ending we had planned.
As I sit here writing this poem,
My mind is so confused.
One moment I was pregnant,
And now my heart feels bruised.
Feeling useless waiting.
All I can do is cry.
We already loved you so much;
I don’t want to say goodbye.