“A few months ago I was so exhausted that I could barely function. It seemed weird, but like most women, I brushed it off. I attributed it to being busy, raising two kiddos, dealing with 3 year old sleep regression and moving house. The exhaustion made sense, I told myself. So I dismissed it, only to find myself falling asleep sitting up on the couch, overcome with tiredness multiple times a week.
I was also bloated. I’ve never had bloating, except for right before my cycle, so to be so bloated was abnormal for me. I talked to my husband, “Look at this!” I demanded, shoving my fingers and fist into my abdomen, watching it give under the pressure of my hand. “What the hell is this about?” I decided to go to the doctor and booked in two days later.
I love my GP. She is so lovely and knows me and my family well. I marched into her office with my 3 year old, wishing to make the appointment speedy (because they were already an hour behind schedule).
“Hey Dr G, I think I have a poo obstruction.”
This probably wasn’t the right tactic, but I told her I was bloated and she did an abdominal exam. She asked me a few standard questions and then asked me if I could be pregnant. I laughed out loud and smiled,
“No. That’s impossible.”
She finally convinced me to take a pregnancy test, but as I sauntered off to the bathroom I couldn’t help myself, “This really is a waste of time you know. I’ve only missed 2 periods in my life and they were both when I moved house. So that’s all this is.”
I peed on the stick and then the nurse asked me to wait in the waiting room for the result. At this point we were now an hour and half past our original appointment and my patience was waning with my bored toddler. She called me back into the room and at this point I was peeved and just wanting to go home. The tiredness was coming on strong, as was dinner, bath and bedtime for the kiddos. She walked up to me with her hands closed around something and moved in a delicate manner, as if she were cradling an injured baby bird. My interest peaked. She made her way over to my chair and opened her hands to reveal the pregnancy stick with two distinct pink lines.
I find it difficult to put into words what the next few moments exactly felt like, but my entire body went numb and I felt like I was being swallowed whole. I burst into tears, crying while my toddler looked on, perplexed. I couldn’t speak. All I could do was muster a broken stutter of something like, “I just….. I dunno. How is this possible? Are you sure?”
I imagine that the first minute of knowing is similar to what someone experiences before they die- a slideshow of thoughts, memories and feelings experienced in a single millisecond.
Mine went a little something like this:
We were done.
I don’t want any more babies.
Life is finally getting easier. Finally.
I am so tired.
Three would be nice, but I’m spread too thin as it is.
I sold our baby stuff.
Emerson is too young.
How could YOU be so ungrateful?
You don’t deserve this.
The baby won’t survive in your broken body anyway.
Don’t get attached.
My doctor had trouble reading my reaction, and I assured her that we were 100% keeping the baby. I explained to her that my shock was simply attributed to the fact that we had such a struggle to conceive years before, for both of our kids. Even though she was my GP she didn’t know the extent of our infertility issues. When I explained the backstory, a huge smile crept over her face and then she said, “Well I guess this was just meant to be then.”
We decided not to jump on my traditional pregnancy protocol of severely lowering my immune system. It seemed my body had finally reset and knew what it was “supposed” to do. I decided to trust my body for the first time then and there.
My GP left the room and I just hugged Ry and I cried and cried and told her how much I loved her. In that moment I felt so much guilt because I knew yet another baby meant that I had to give her even less of myself.
I zombie walked to the car and called my parents first. I was on the phone with them when I arrived at the appointment and assured them that I would call them on my way home. It’s all a bit blurry, but I think the conversation went something like,
“Soooooo…. it’s not a poop obstruction. I’m actually pregnant!”
Squeals. Excitement. More tears. I expressed my joy and my subsequent fear. The fear of losing the baby and the fear of what we were going to do, falling pregnant at such a precarious time and still without a lick of local family help or support. I drove home the rest of the way on autopilot and decided that I wanted Ry to hand deliver her daddy the stick and film his reaction. After all, I’ve never peed on a stick before.
It was never that easy for us.
This was a first.”
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