One Year

This past Saturday, August 2nd, marked one year since I found out I was pregnant.

It was a roller coaster day.  In the previous month, I had taken the drug Femera (to increase egg production), and injected myself with hormones.  Two weeks prior we had done an IUI (that’s the proper term for artificial insemination these days).

The previous 2.5 years I had rarely taken a pregnancy test, figuring, why waste the money.  I had done three IUIs and taken Femara before, but this was the first time with the injections.  I was convinced I would not be pregnant; there was only about a 20% chance it would work.  I readied myself for the words “not pregnant” to appear on the digital readout.

I took the test and waited exactly three minutes before I looked.  It read “pregnant”.  I knew it was a mistake.  There’s no way it had finally worked.  I called Chris, my voice shaking, to tell him the news, and then called the doctor’s office; they said to come in and take a blood test.

When I arrived, the receptionist informed me I would need to take a urine test first.  I didn’t really see the point, but fine; I took it and gave it to her and I was leaving the waiting room, I said “How long before I’ll know the results?”  She told me she’d check it right now, then came back and announced to the entire waiting room, in a cheerful voice, “It’s negative.”

I was stunned.  What had happened?  False positives were so rare!  My hopes were dashed; I called Chris and left him a tearful voicemail and made my way home.  Shortly after I got home, the phone rang and it was the receptionist again.  “It’s positive,” she said.  “What?”  “The test… it’s positive.  I waited a little longer.”

I was reeling again.  So maybe I was pregnant after all?  I called Chris yet again.  A little while later another woman from the doctor’s office called.  “So, are you coming in to take a blood test?” she asked.  “No,” I said.  “You told me to just go home.”

Back to the lab, they took my blood, said they’d call me the next day.  All night I tried not to get my hopes up that it was true.  At 8 AM the phone rang.  It was the receptionist.  “I have your results!” she said excitedly.  “It’s 200!”

I paused.  “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.  Only a doctor can tell you that.”

“So you can’t tell me ANYTHING?”

“Nope!”

I WAS PISSED!  Why was she calling me to tell me NOTHING?  I called all afternoon waiting to speak to the doctor; finally the receptionist came back on the phone, after I was on hold 20 minutes, and said “You have to take the test again you’re pregnant.”   “WHAT?” I said.  “You have to take the test again.”  “No.. the second part!”  “Oh.. you’re pregnant.”

As it turns out, the number represents the level of the hormone hCG, and I had to take a second test two days later to see if the numbers were rising appropriately.  (Which they were.)  I could finally relax and believe it.

I didn’t believe I was having a baby, not yet.. but I knew I could get pregnant, and that was the most important thing.

Needless to say, that woman doesn’t work there any more.  (Nothing to do with me!)