I took the test at 5:30 am because I’m the sort of person that wakes up every hour on December 25th. Waiting for something exciting is torture for me. And I knew in my bones (or uterus) that I was pregnant. I just knew. Which is weird because people SAY they just know but I thought that was some sort of bullshit people just say.
But there I was, peeing in to a santa mug so I could dip one of those pregnancy tests into it because I am ALSO the sort of person that, should I try to pee directly on a stick, I would miss it entirely.
The positive line was so faint that I was pretty sure I was imagining it. I took a picture of it, texted it to my poor husband with only a question mark. He replied that it was inconclusive and that I should probably take another test. That little of flurry of excitement grew and made me feel like I was going to vomit. Or that may have been the morning sickness. In hindsight, that makes WAY more sense since excitement doesn’t result in dry heaving. On my lunch break I went to the local pharmacy and stood in line, suddenly realizing that I had forgotten my actual wallet at home that day because of ALL THE EXCITEMENT and the overwhelming desire to vomit. So I checked all the pockets of my purse and, in small change, had the exact amount for a second pregnancy test. It was a sign! A WONDERFUL SIGN THAT THE WORLD LOVED ME AND MY SESAME SIZED BABY THAT I WAS GROWING!! Yaaayyyy signs! Congratulatory shots of tequila for everyone. Wait… except me. That would be bad. LARGE GLASS OF WATER FOR THE SOON TO BE MOTHER!
I texted the second positive pregnancy test picture to my husband with an exclamation point. We were unequivocally pregnant, approximately six weeks along. I would jump for joy but HOLY BALLS MY BOOBS HURT. And the desire to vomit… my god, WHY DO WE DO SO MUCH MOVING? Had walking not ever resulted in motion sickness before? HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE????Life has so much moving and smelling and my god how was I going to survive?
We started planning, referring to it as Sesame, its approximate size. We would need to buy a house. And pay off our credit cards. And get rid of all the hookers that have been hanging about and my god, we would have to slack our cocaine expenditures AT LEAST in half.
The first call was to my mom. Because I had absolutely no idea what to do next. Doctors visit? Prayer circle? Thankful sacrifice of some sort of goat or cow to the fertility gods? WHERE DOES ONE FIND THE RIGHT KIND OF KNIFE FOR SACRIFICE?? She, in the way that only mothers can, guessed immediately why we had Facetimed her (it wouldn’t have been a giveaway as I tend to face time her about all kinds of things – recipes, random chats, advice on getting rid of hookers, the usual). And she was cautiously excited. It’s early days still, and she had gone through a miscarriage and we should go to a doctor, make sure everything was fine and wait to tell people. And we smiled and agreed.
A doctors visit the next day resulted in basically all my blood being taken for what I could only assume was a bribery payment to the local vampire hive and him telling us we were young, perfectly healthy and congratulations!! BABIES!!! TELL THE WHOLE WORLD ABOU TALL THE BABIES!!! Wait.. nope, not supposed to do that…. Well… maybe a little?
That night we told six of our closest friends and oh. my. god. they were excited. SO MANY PLANS. This baby would have all the love in the whole world and a very large jewish man was already planning on entering it into every pageant this side of the Mississippi.
The next morning I woke up at 6 am needing to pee worse than I had ever needed to pee in my whole life. Thats when that first bit of pink showed up. I went to google, to confirm my thought that this fell under the realm of normal. It did. OR it signified that I was suffering from mass radiation poisoning the likes of which hasn’t been seen since that whole Chernobyl bit of shenanigans. I told my husband and he too googled and then confirmed my suspicions of this being perfectly normal.
We went on with the planning and the googling and the me looking at adorable maternity wear online because I refused to pull a Kim Kardashian and force myself into uncomfortable clothing for several months for the misguided sake of fashion. And OH MY GOD did you know just how many Doctor Who onesies exist? I COULD HAVE A BABY DRESSED AS A TARDIS!
The spotting became bleeding.
I went from being mildly concerned to terrified. A second trip to the doctor. A second round of bloodtaking and a quickly scheduled ultrasound. Frantic boob punching to confirm they were still all pregnancy-sore. Or were they just now sore from constant self-boob-punching? What is the NORMAL level of pain for boob punching?? HEY STRANGE NEIGHBOR LADY CAN I PUNCH YOUR BOOBS AND YOU TELL ME IF IT FEELS LIKE PREGNANCY BOOBS?? All the while, cramping and bleeding. And panicking.
My husband was utter perfection. Supportive and reassuring and just… amazing. He is always amazing but this was like next level amazing. I’m still contemplating buying him a tiara. He hugged me and held me and told me everything was going to be okay because sesame was a straight up badass and wouldn’t just bail on the first promise of freedom, Sesame had GROWING to do. And I tried to cling to him and his faith that we were okay.
But in the way I knew I was pregnant, I also knew that I was miscarrying. That this bleeding was bad. Very bad. And that my body was letting me down worse than it had ever let me down before. Not just me. It was going to let down my husband, our friends and family. It was going to take my hopes and plans of holding a tiny person me and my husband made close and smelling its amazing baby smell and dressing it like a tiny Captain Picard for Halloween. I couldn’t lose that.
I dug through my medicine cabinet searching for a pregnancy test, knowing I probably had one stashed somewhere for some sort of pregnancy related emergency? When I had stashed it, that had seemed like a really ridiculous idea. But here I was. Pregnancy emergency. Frantically searching for the test, finding on it, peeing on it like I was a dog and it was my favourite tennis ball.
I was once sucker punched in the stomach during a Karate tournament when I was 11. That felt remarkably the same as reading those words. Only, during the actual sucker punch, I eventually caught my breath and proceeded to kick a stringy haired 11 year old boys ass. Now? No ass kicking. Only trying to remember how to breath and trying to figure out how I ended up on the ground and trying to figure out how I could make this not true.
My next action is the one I’m least proud of, but I had no words and I couldn’t not tell him. So, blind to the fact he was on the phone, I threw the test in front of him, and sobbed. I’m not usually a crier, so I haven’t really perfected the art of the “pretty cry”… a small part of me was preoccupied with that thought as I screamed and cried and snotted into my husbands shirt. I should really learn to pretty cry.
He held on hope that the bleeding was normal and that the test was wrong. But the nausea, the boob pain, the general I’m Growing a Parasite feeling was gone. Very gone. I tried to explain it but he was certain that the ultrasound the next day and the doctors appointment would give up surprisingly good news. And because I was a coward, I decided to let the professionals be the ones to properly break it to him if he wouldn’t listen to me.
I sat, or laid, through a normal ultrasound and a transvaginal ultrasound – heads up, they are just as awful as they sound and are very reminiscent of that first time you get groped and decided all the books lie and that sex is a REALLY BAD IDEA because that shit is AWFUL – and the increasing kindness and pity I saw in the technicians face as she poked and jabbed just confirmed that I had lost what was supposed to be our baby. That the sesame would never get to grow any bigger.
The doctors appointment gave the final blow – the blood test showed that the level of pregnancy hormones in my body had crashed and crashed quickly. We were no longer pregnant and I just needed to wait out the bleeding.
As you can imagine, I cried a lot. And apologized more. To my husband, over and over, to my mom when I asked her to tell everyone else because I couldn’t bring my self to talk to them and see that level of sympathy in their faces. I felt broken and useless. I still feel that way a bit. The whole growing people thing is one of the major reasons to have a uterus – And mine had gone and fucked up.
I loved that Sesame for the short time I got to believe in it. So did my husband. We didn’t think that this could end in heartbreak and tears and me having a very lively screaming match with my own reproductive organs. And losing that screaming match.
Right now, I’m still in the middle of this thing. Only a few days have passed since the bleeding has stopped. The tears haven’t stopped entirely… they keep surprising me. The panic attacks are also a surprise. The idea of talking to someone, explaining why I took a few days off from work and cancelled all my meetings, why I haven’t responded to texts… I suddenly can’t breath and the sort of tremble that would do Michael J Fox proud starts and I’m about 90% sure I’m going to die.
However, I keep not dying and moving forward. I’m pretty sure its going to get better.