A week makes a hell of a lot of a difference. I don’t even know if that makes sense but right now I don’t care. It’s crazy to think that a week ago we had no idea what the doctor was going to tell us that evening, we had little hope, no expectations and we were pretty certain that the news we were about to receive would be shit. I can’t believe that in this last week we’ve been told so many different things and given so much information that it’s hard, even now to make sense of it all and know that we are without a doubt making the right decision. There’s this nagging feeling, eating away at me and I’m so sure that this decision isn’t necessarily the right decision. But it’s the best one, the safer of the two. I have this feeling that if we were to go ahead then everything would be okay, that this would all be a distant memory and our baby would be beautiful and healthy and look exactly like him. The thought of what we’re about to do haunts me every single night and every morning when I wake its the first thing I think about. Throughout the day it consumes me and I’ve cried more tears in the last week than I have done in my entire lifetime or so it feels.

In a weeks time I will be just two days away from making the biggest decision of my life, and one I’m not sure I’m ready to make. It feels wrong, so incredibly wrong, but I could never live with the guilt if this didn’t play out the way I would hope it would. I feel as though I’m just counting down the days, wondering whether anything will change between now and then it if this really is the final decision7


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