Two Lines after 2 years
🌷Some may say it’s strange to carry around a positive pregnancy test in my purse; maybe it IS obsessive to look at it multiple times a day, and before bed each night. But after years of desperately wanting to see those two lines, I am going to take every opportunity to stare and obsess about that positive pregnancy test.
The moment we found out we were officially pregnant one week ago will be emblazoned in my memory for the rest of my life. I will remember my heart beating out of my chest when I saw Kimmy’s Facetime appear on my phone; I will remember screaming and scaring both my husband (Phil) and our dog daughter (Darla) when Kimmy said “Hello Parents!” But what I will remember the most vividly is the feeling of hugging my husband, crying, after getting off the phone with Kimmy, feeling like a million pounds had been pulled off my back, the smell of laundry on my husband’s clothing, the feeling of the wood floors on my feet, the weight of my hair in a ponytail (a weight I hadn’t felt for years because all the weight I felt was the bricks of infertility,) and the feeling of my heart mending. I carry THIS moment now, every day. Until that instant, the memory that I carried with me every day was the stale smell of the clinic room; the feel of the crinkly, dry paper under my body, as I lay on the clinic bed; the sound of the crackling sound it made as the nurse practitioner, and then the doctor, tried to find the heartbeat of our baby boy; the look of absolute fear on Phil’s face; the feeling my heart literally breaking into a million pieces; the weight of a million pounds of grief as I stood up, and the terrible taste of water from those little water bottles I was forced to drink before the ultrasound to confirm that my son had died inside of me. That was the moment I relived every day. I have never been able to outrun that, those feelings, that memory … until the moment I hugged my husband, and said “we did it. We’re really pregnant.”
Everyday over the past couple years has felt like a Groundhog Day of despair. Every day I was getting bloodwork to test my hormone levels, every time an ultrasound wand was inserted into me, every time I peed on a stick to check my ovulation, every hormone injection into my stomach, every phone call from the fertility clinic stating that our transfer failed or was unsuccessful….every fucking day felt the same. Everyday was a reminder that I wasn’t holding my son, and a reminder that I may never have a baby. It didn’t matter if my husband and I went on a vacation, or it was a holiday or a birthday or there was a job promotion. It was absolutely impossible to experience happiness when we were grieving not only the loss of our son, but the very real potential loss of ever having children.
When we found out we were pregnant, our whole world opened. In a literal second, we felt a feeling we both had not experienced in years: joy. That feeling has continued this week. And yes, we are well aware that we are very early in the pregnancy, BUT, we are choosing joy and hope and confidence in this baby, because the alternative is a slippery slope to where we just came from: sadness, despair, hopelessness, uncertainty. It took us nearly two years, the loss of our son Henry, and two additional losses with Kimmy, to get that positive test. There was no way in hell we weren’t taking this win.
When our first Beta-HCG (the pregnancy hormone) came back at 188, and we were confirmed pregnant last Saturday, we were elated. The next best moment was two days later, when the second Beta came back at 549.8, showing that the pregnancy was progressing beautifully. At this moment, we exhaled, we bought an egg decorating kit for Easter (any holiday celebration over the past two years has felt forced and disingenuous,) we made plans with friends and family, we laughed at a stupid show on tv, I played my piano, I downloaded pregnancy tracker applications on my phone. We took real steps forward in our lives.
A couple days after that second Beta, my mom called me. She didn’t know about the transfer, but she was curious how the surrogacy process was going. I played it coy about “when the next transfer would be” (we’re planning to tell my family tomorrow, Easter 2024). She was asking now because she had had an overwhelming feeling at Christmas this past year, looking at all the babies and grandparents at church, that the next Christmas (2024), she would be a grandmother. She thought to inquire about where we were at in the process, because based on her calculation, something might have happened by March if she was to be a grandma by Christmas. Little does (did) she know, our baby is due November 30, 2024.
A lot has happened in these first seven short days of knowing we are pregnant. Our lives have changed. We have joy. We have a baby on the way. We are no longer carrying only the weight of grief (the loss of Henry will forever stay with us). So, I am going to continue to carry this pregnancy test around with me and stare at it every night because, when you wait two years to see two lines, those two lines are the most beautiful thing in the world. 🌷
