The Same Old Terror

I am twelve weeks pregnant today. From the beginning of this journey, twelve weeks was a sort of milestone that I was striving for. At twelve weeks, I would start telling people at work. At twelve weeks, I could start buying baby things in earnest. At twelve weeks, I would start buying maternity clothes. So now I am twelve weeks pregnant, and suddenly, I am terrified. As a milestone, twelve weeks signifies both a point of progression and a change in direction. Perhaps not a literal direction, but there is a change in my thinking. Until now, I have been fixated on the baby inside me. Now, I'm suddenly thinking about the baby coming out, and people, let me just tell you, this is terrifying.
I have had much (too much) experience with the medical establishment. I began having surgeries when I was ten years old. By the time I lost my sight at fourteen, I had gone through upwards of twenty operations on my eyes. We lost count somewhere along the way. I have had six brain operations and one on my spinal cord. Yes, I know about the medical establishment. And now, I face yet another encounter with that cold-hearted beast. If I could choose, I would give birth at a birthing center. I would much prefer a nurse midwife to an obstetrician and labor and delivery "team." But because of my medical history, that isn't an option. Due to the trauma my brain has already endured, there is a risk of a rise in my intracranial pressure during delivery. I have to think about my health and the welfare of my family. Because of the unique risks that I face, I will have a scheduled C-section. In essence, another operation. Certainly, this is not how I would choose to bring my baby into the world, but I knew going into this that I did not have the luxury of choice.
Now, twelve weeks in, I have started to think about what the birth will be like. Will it be cold and clinical like my other medical procedures? Will I be as afraid? Will I experience that familiar yet terrifying sensation of having no control over what is done to my body? I expected morning sickness. I expected discomfort. I expected weight gain and mood shifts. But this fear, this old fear that I have experienced so many times, this I did not expect. I did not want these specters of past terrors to intrude on what should be the most wonderful experience of my life. This fear is not welcome, and it has no place here. Except that it does. This fear is always with me, ready to tap me on the shoulder at the slightest provocation: a medical drama on TV, a routine check-up, the smell of rubbing alcohol. Even this most wanted and hoped for event is not immune from its familiar yet chilling grip.
Logically, I know that there are things I can do to combat this fear. I will learn more about C-sections. I will tour the hospital birthing rooms. I will explain this situation to my doctor and continue to explain until he finally understands that I insist on having control of this process. And I think he will understand. He seems very compassionate and open to hearing about the concerns and fears of his patients. And most important of all, I must remember that this time, unlike all the other times, I will not be alone. Michael will be with me. Through all of this, he will be there. This time, I do not have to face the terror alone.