The Fourth of July has been a tough day for me, since my mother died. It was a family holiday. We always went to parties together as a family.
Since her death. I usually spent most of the day curled up in bed and then tried to muster up some energy to go to a party and watch fire works.
This 4th of July, I was cramping.
This was my 8th or 9th insemination and I was miserable. “Well, that’s it. I’m not pregnant,” I thought and decided that my garden would have to deal with not being nurtured as I had a few classes of wine.
I went to open a bottle and then decided I’d take a home pregnancy test, before I started drinking. I had one test left.
I peed on the stick, knowing that I was just going to be disappointed in a few minutes and I swear, that second blue line started to appear in seconds. It was very light, but it was there.
My knees buckled, I crumbled onto the floor and I burst into tears. Could this be real? Was this really happening? I stopped my joy for a moment to think about what could cause a false result. Just be prepared.
But I couldn’t hold back to pure joy. I collapsed on my bed and sobbed. My breasts had been sore. I didn’t even notice.
I called Dr. Right’s office and told them I needed to take a pregnancy test. They were closing early for the holiday, so I had to go in the next morning.
I went to my 4th of July party that afternoon, happy. I didn’t have my wave of depression. I felt closer to my mom than ever. My insides were bursting with this secret. I watched all the children running around the party thinking, next year, will I be a mom? Will I have a 4 month old?
The next morning I went to Dr. Right’s office for my blood test. “Is Dr. Right here?” I asked. “I want to tell him I think I’m pregnant.”
“He’s out today,” a nurse said. “Dr. Partner is here. Do you want to tell him?”
“It’s OK,” I said. I hadn’t seen Dr. Partner much. He’d be happy for me, but he didn’t know the whole Fancy Clinic saga and all. He wasn’t my Dr. Right.
Dr. Partner kind of reminded me of that character on South Park, Mr. Mackey. He looked a little like him but mostly because he always said, “mkay.”
I took the blood test and grilled the nurse, “So how often is a positive home pregnancy test wrong? What could give me a false positive? Does it matter if the second blue line was very faint?”
The nurse tried to be vague, but did give me the impression that the test was most likely accurate.
I went home and paced. I watched some TV. I cleaned. My phone rang.
“Evie? This is Dr. Partner, mkay.”
My heart was pounding. Tell me the news.
“Well, you know what holiday we just celebrated?”
OMG. He was going to make some dumb joke. I must be pregnant if he’s making a joke.
“4th of July,” I said, not understanding where he was going with this but wanting to cry with delight.
“Well, um actually, Independence Day. And what I’m trying to say is you are about to be independent of us, mkay. Independent of us here at The Good Clinic.”
It was so dumb and so not funny and so wonderful.
“I’m pregnant!” I breathed.
“Yes, mkay. Congratulations!”
I hung up and felt floaty. I’m sure I cried again. It was real. I wanted to call Dr. Right. I left him a voicemail.
“I don’t want to bother you on your day off, Dr. Right,” I said to the machine, “but I’m pregnant and I’m so happy and thank you.”
Dr. Right called me back. On his day off. He was so happy too.
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/bestrated1/5902214763/”>Creativity+ Timothy K Hamilton</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a>