I thought it was all over. But I guess the fat lady is still sitting in the corner, quietly humming to herself.
As one mountain is climbed, another appears like a volcano rising from the sea, steaming with anxiety.
All I have ever wanted is to be able to draw a line under it, I keep trying but with every new mountain the line just becomes a zig-zag, almost like a fat green snake poking its tongue out at the top of a snakes and ladder board.
We just keep going back to the beginning.
My fear is that this time, it still won't be the end; that there will be "something" else that will prevent me from clearing it all completely from my mind. Always there, right at the back, just etching away slightly with a whisper of 'what ifs'.
At 20 weeks old, my flower Violet is a true miracle. There will be no more because it will be impossible. In 3 weeks time I will be hollow and in hospital on my own. It won't be like last time. I will have few or no visitors other than Carl and Violet. Five days for the what ifs to grow until they tell me that everything is clear.
Only then will I get a big black marker pen and draw the biggest, thickest line
