As you enter the prison where I work there is a sign that tells you the security threat level, e.g. security threat level - severe. My anxiety level isn't yet severe but feels as if it is heading that way.
The following excerpts from Katherine Heiny's article in The Guardian about her confinement during pregnancy really struck a chord with me:
During my first trimester, I worried about everything. Expecting to miscarry at any moment I would obsessively check my underwear for blood and dreaded the scans that would surely reveal the absence of a heartbeat. Making it to the second trimester and despite the presence of a heartbeat, I worried that the easing of my sickness and tiredness meant that I wasn't really pregnant; feeling like a fraud until a tiny lil' flutter finally turned into a kick. For the next seventeen weeks my main worry was placental abruption after reading the Ariel Levy article, Thanksgiving in Mongolia.The problem is not just that I am a champion worrier. It’s that I court worry – I seek it out, I invite it into my home, never remembering how hard it is to dislodge it from its comfortable chair by the fire...
And when I got pregnant with my first child, I bought What to Expect When You’re Expecting – and the chapter titled What Can Go Wrong was the one I read first...
Retained placenta; umbilical cord prolapse; foetal arrhythmia; toxoplasmosis; preeclampsia; placental abruption; gestational diabetes; cytomegalovirus: I read about all of them, and learned the warning signs. Perhaps to other women, these complications remain obscure, shadowy threats during pregnancy, but to me they were hard, clear, immediate dangers.
Now I sit here with my ten week old baby boy and the anxiety has only become worse after his birth. Unable to sleep because I had to keep checking he was breathing, I bought a tiny monitor that clips to his nappy and was then unable to sleep due to worrying that the monitor did not work. There is another monitor next to his cot so I can hear if he cries when I am in the living room. I love hearing him snore, fart, snuffle, but when he is silent I have to go check on him, sick with fear at what I might find. Afterwards, I sit down and immediately need to get up and go check on him again. I rush my dinner so I can go check on him. Halfway through watching a programme with my partner in the evening I make an excuse for needing to get something from the kitchen so that I can check on him; whilst making dinner I need to stop what I am doing every five minutes so that I can check on him.
Anxiety is exhausting.
Sometimes I stand and watch him sleep, his chest moving up and down in a reassuring pattern. But is he really breathing? Can I trust what I am seeing? I tenderly place my hand on his chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall. He throws his arms around my hand holding me close. When I am with him, holding him close, I can relax and feel a contentment I've not felt before. The rest of the time I am anxious.
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