“She had her first scan today, you wanna see?” I ask, but I don’t care about their answers; I’m already pulling up the pictures.

The three of them stand around like good dutiful friends and look at every picture I show them. But I don’t stop at the scans. I show them pictures of Ellis and of Jack and a few I found of Ellis and me in college. Those ones they love the most – mocking my old haircuts and laughing at how young we both look.

My favourite picture is stashed privately in my wallet. It’s a polaroid Ellis took for me of her newly pregnant stomach. Her plan is to take one every month so she can see how much her body changes and I plan on stealing them so I can bring her with me when I travel.

After a while the rest of the team start to arrive, so I put my phone away. But at least it isn’t just me holding onto the secret any more. I do wonder why they have so much faith in my fathering abilities, though.

Regardless, their faith in me makes me think I must be doing something right.

Chapter Ten

Ellis

Every morning, weekend or weekday, summer or winter, having my routine is one of the only things that makes me feel as though I am in charge of the day. There are days when my routine is thrown out of the window, I have no input on when my body decides it will flare up, but when I can, I cling to my routine like a lifeline. This morning is no different from the rest.

When my alarm goes off each morning, I take a few minutes to stare at the ceiling and just breathe, centre myself and assess my body from bottom to top; cataloguing where hurts and what I have to do during the day. When you are chronically ill, doctors give you advice that at the time seems like a bunch of bullshit. Try getting exercise, eat well, fresh air will do you good. When they are saying it, all you want to do is throw something at them. But the worst thing about it is that they’re right. It doesn’t fix everything; nothing will ever fix it completely. But a curated medication plan and taking steps to try and feel whole really do help.