None like it

Since my relapse on Monday, I’ve been working from home, which means that apart from a shopping trip Bruce insisted I take with him (I did feel a little more human after the walk) I’ve basically been a recluse for the last three days. This is how I want it to be right now, though. Even the sun, which I usually crave and can’t get enough of, seems mocking under these circumstances.

This evening, I have my first appointment with a midwife, and although it won’t entail any major surprises (blood work, a Q&A), I’m still feeling anxious about the whole thing. My initial visit and scan did nothing to inspire confidence that subsequent trips won’t be equally confusing, scary and humiliating, so my expectations are really low at the moment.

When I feel this way - ill, disoriented, nervous – I always start to miss That Place Formerly Known as Home. Never again will I be scooped up by my dad’s waiting car, transported to my childhood house (now sold) and set up on their king-sized bed for a quiet hour alone while they chat away in the next room with Bruce.

I know my parents and I have had our differences, and visits have always been fraught in some way, but familiarity in itself is a comfort few other instances can afford.

And I can’t believe that given all I do have – independence; a nice place to live; a good job; a lovely husband – I’m being such a child about this. But I’m just plain scared right now, and I want to see my horrible family.

Four more weeks until Canada.