Purgatory

Purgatory is waiting around for your pregnancy test, which is scheduled for the end of the week.

It's wandering aimlessly around the house, with no real work to speak of (both a blessing and a curse during this time), being limited physically and crippled emotionally. It's wondering how much you can take before you go mad. It's knowing that, either way, you'll never quite be the same again.

Purgatory is abstaining from almost everything you love, possibly for no reason whatsoever. It's decaf coffee and juice and walking (without the dogs) and watching other people ride your horse. It's preparing yourself for the worst while hoping for he best; running scenario after scenario through your head as you pace the halls like a caged tiger, dissatisfied and intensely aware of every ticking second.

Purgatory means you stop enjoying the things you used to love...well, the things you used to love that you are ALLOWED to do, according to the new rules set forth by your doctor. It's distraction, coupled with a bad taste in your mouth that leaves you dead in front of the television, wishing it was two days from now and evaluating your body for the slightest foreign twinge. A cramp here. Tenderness there. What if....what if...?

I won't be able to blog about the results of Fridays test. If it's good news (dear god, let it be good news), then you don't talk about it until you're past the first tenuous weeks. If its bad news...well...there are some feelings so visceral that even I won't be able to find the words to express them.

Please, let this week be over.
Please, let me take back my life, even if it's in bits and pieces when it's done.

This ghost of a person that I've become....let her find peace, no matter what the outcome.

Give me heaven or hell, ecstacy or sorrow.
Anything...anything...other than purgatory.