23 precious weeks

My darling girl. You have made it 23 weeks. You are now four days older than your dear brother will ever be. I am so proud of you but I am so sad for him. 23 is his number, so it's special, but I am also glad it is not yours. I hope yours will be much, much closer to 40.

Despite the strength of my fears you have not fallen out and you have not disappeared in the fluffy plume of smoke of a magician's wand. You are there. Beating heart. Kicking legs. Little lips opening and closing. Lungs practicing little breaths.

Today you are 23+4 weeks old and you're showing no signs of any impending plans of departure from the lovely, safe space in which you are growing. I saw you just a few days ago on the monitor. You were acting like an astronaut in zero gravity, hanging out upside down with the top of your head facing the floor. There's still lots of room for you to roll around as you're still so tiny. Enjoy it while you can as I am planning on fattening you up as much as I can.

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The last few days have not been without worry or stress. Far from it. Last Friday night I developed a burning, aching feeling across my lower back which persisted throughout Saturday. On Saturday afternoon I started feeling very tired and generally unwell and I could not ease the back pain at all. I lay in my bed for about 2 hours trying to decide if I had anything to worry about.

My main concern was that the only symptom I'd experienced in the lead up to Max's birth was a similar kind of back pain, which I'd thought little of at the time. Was this the same pain? Was I imagining it? How bad was it really? What should I do about it? After much indecision I decided that I had to go to the hospital to get it checked out, no matter how much of a hypochondriac they thought I was. After all, I was the one that had to live with any consequences of not having it attended to as early as I could have. I still feel like the buck rests firmly with me to keep this baby safe and well.

The hospital were absolutely fantastic. I presented to emergency and after I'd told them I was a patient in the preterm labour clinic, and that I had some worrying pains, I was admitted to the delivery ward in a matter of minutes and scurried away by wheelchair to get checked out. No one was taking any chances. That I was glad to know. They take this stuff seriously. As the doctors and midwives took over I felt like I might just be able to breathe again.

They put me in the quietest room, away from labouring women and newborn babies and word soon spread that I was on the ward. First, the lovely midwife Melissa, who I've written about previously, arrived. She just so happened to be on shift that night and heard my name before promptly taking over my care. Next, they sent the obstetrician from the preterm clinic, interrupting her between numerous surgeries to see me. I felt like a celebrity guest. It felt like I was at the bar in Cheers - where everyone knows your name.

The quickest way to the end of the story is to tell you that absolutely nothing was awry. They examined my cervix: still long and closed. Baby's heartbeat perfectly rated. Swabs for infection sent off. This was just normal, run of the mill back pain. Who would have thought I'd have such a simple, pedestrian pregnancy symptom after the gamut of problems I'd experienced that weren't mentioned in the pregnancy textbooks?

I felt silly. Of course I did. But I was so glad I went, and everyone reassured me that I did exactly as they would have wished me to, and that I must do it again if I even have a shadow of a doubt that things are not as they should be. Sensing my anxiety the obstetrician offered me a fetal fibronectin test, which I'd read about in my copious amounts of research on preterm birth. The test predicts, with something like 98.5% accuracy, the likelihood of you going into labour within the next 7-10 days. If you get a negative result it is very reliable. If you get a positive result it doesn't necessarily mean that labour will commence, but gives the doctors a chance to implement some other measures just in case. It took just ten minutes. The result? Negative. Cries of relief all round. I don't know why they don't offer this test as a matter of course to people in my situation. Perhaps it is expensive. Who knows how these decisions get made. That test gave me peace of mind when nothing else could, though. I will be assertively requesting it in all of my appointments from now on. The Victorian government can send me the bill if it is a matter of cost. What are dollars when the life of your precious baby is at stake?

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Closer to 24 weeks now than the dreaded 23, I can barely believe my luck. We sit in uncharted territory. How has what came before not happened again? I can't make sense of it. I've done nothing differently. How has the sky not fallen in on us?

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I'm rejoicing in the newness these past few days have brought me. My little baby is moving so much. I can see her little kicks and jabs from the outside now. I never experienced that with Max. My tummy is bigger than it ever got before. I look actually pregnant now. It's a thrill. I see a shadow lurking around every corner. How can I not? But it's getting easier to avert my eyes. We approach 24 weeks - viability - with our eyes fixed firmly ahead, too afraid to look down in case we lose our carefully managed footing. One step in front of the other to bring our baby home.