|Chloe. 31 weeks .|
I will forever be trying to make up for those 24 hours. It is time I cannot get back. It is time I will never forget.
I may walk (well now, waddle) my way through my days and nights and doctors appointments and meetings as if I am tough as nails: it is all I have, this false confidence, this chip on my shoulder, this, this refusal to ever let preeclampsia be the public victor.
But, I am scared. I am scared to lose another 24-hours.
And I scared of your fear and concern too. Every time, someone tells me to take it easy, to rest, to relax; I think:
What do you know? what aren't you telling me? Is it going to happen again? Will it be worse? Am I no going to make it? Do you see dark shadows around my head?
Because I am scared. I scared for The Boy. I am scared for my girls. I am for my husband. I am scared for myself.
I have no road map to 31 and two. I have no idea what my body will will do or won't do. I have no idea where preeclampsia has hidden itself--my blood pressure? my kidneys? my feet? my hands? my liver? my heart? Or is it simply gone--off to hunt another mother, while I simply feel haunted.