I found out before the sun rose on April 29.
What I saw, I had only daydreamed about. It would be nothing short of a miracle. It would be a long shot, but I did believe it could happen. Hope. Faith. Mother Nature … Miracle.
I am pregnant.
My last cycle began March 23, and I waited and waited for it to start again the week of April 24. Given the unpredictability of my cycles, I allowed for a window, as I always did—and it always showed up. But it didn’t show up on April 27 when my hubby offered to buy some pregnancy tests on his way home from work. “Nah,” I said. “There’s no way.” But then it didn’t show up on April 28 either, and I thought, “What the heck?” and asked him to pick up a pack of cheapies.
Okay, so the “cheapies” require about 10 seconds of urine flow, and it was the end of the day. Still, I assumed something would show up if “something” was actually in there. I will be honest: I gave it a C-level effort. I didn’t have enough pee and it was probably too diluted, and I threw the test away immediately and moved on with my evening.
I awoke around 4 a.m. the next morning. I had to pee … and I figured it was a good opportunity to take another test—just in case. “A” for effort.
I mean, what can I say? I took the test … AND IT WAS POSITIVE. In my daze, I freaked out. I said aloud, “I have to tell my mom, and I have to get my Folgard.” (My parents were visiting that weekend.) I honestly don’t remember how I reacted or what happened. My world and adrenaline were racing. I could NOT believe it. How do you welcome a miracle? How do you accept a miracle? How do you accept that you’re lucky enough for this absolute miracle?
My husband, my parents, and I knew about this little secret that weekend. I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t believe it. My belief rests in the doctor visits when I see my baby’s heartbeat. I am 11 weeks and one day pregnant today, and I still can’t believe it.
My first week of pregnancy was a little crazy. I was diagnosed with a mysterious hematoma in my breast in January, and the breast specialist asked me to return for a follow-up visit two months later. Well, two months later turned into about 3.5 months later, and my follow-up visit was finally set for May 1. Great!
Given the recent “news” I was literally a dazed, semi-anxious, pregnant woman. If you know a little bit about my story and my twin girls’ birth, perhaps you know that I was diagnosed with severe pre-eclampsia toward the end of my second trimester during this twin pregnancy. Well, I always had a gut fear that I was (am) chronically hypertensive; in the meantime, though—following my pregnancy with R + E—I did nothing about it. I certainly planned to address this concern and others with my RE upon pursuit of another perfect, donor egg, IVF baby sometime within the next year!
Well, my blood pressure reading at the breast specialist’s office was complete shit. I mean, it was terrible. Having not yet reviewed the blood pressure reading, the doctor walked into the exam room and saw my face and its horror. I began to cry, and I told her I just found out I was pregnant and my blood pressure was scary high. She was incredibly empathetic (and probably had no other choice but to take some kind of action due to concern). She asked her nurse to set up a same-day appointment for me with my OB to address this concern. She performed the ultrasound, which concluded that everything had resolved. No more worries. She told me congratulations; she exited the exam room and noticed my spinner on the patient’s chair. “Oh, my kids love those,” she said. Haha, “I’m such a child, I know,” I responded. A little humor I suppose.
Hours later, I visited my OB’s office. The nurse was audibly horrified by my blood pressure readings. I mentioned, “Yea, I’m pregnant, and my blood pressures are terrible.” The doctor entered the room … And when I mention “the doctor”, who I mean is the man who treated my pre-eclampsia and delivered my babies. The last time I saw him was when he sat on my hospital bed, expressed his deepest condolences, and wished my living baby and me all the very best. And now—now he joked that my blood pressure readings were “impressive” and prescribed me medication immediately. Thank you, God.
Of course, the massive horse pills he prescribed were NOT an option for me under any circumstances. Friends, I will chew, chop, smash … I will do ANYTHING to get the meds down. But—swallowing this gigantic creature whole was the only option. My esophagus is literally not wide enough. Okay, so, such a fun saga … I visit my family practice, express my woes, push my fears aside when the doctor offers her congratulations. The doctor prescribes Methyldopa—I can handle this. Thank you, God.
My blood pressure readings are good. I am being monitored by my “regular” OB, as well as a high-risk perinatologist. Here I am, 11 weeks pregnant with a miracle baby. God has given me peace, and has granted me peace through the early weeks, through the reminiscing of all that went wrong last time. Here I am … pregnant.
This pregnancy has been sooo much easier on me. I oftentimes worry—just slightly—because of the lack of intense symptoms; everything is toned down a bit … Well, everything except for my belly. 🙂 I’ve not vomited at all or experienced much nausea. I’m quite exhausted and have experienced aversion to food. My little baby belly aches when I don’t eat every two hours, or after a long day at work.
I can’t believe it. I can’t believe this is my story. I get to have this pregnancy and this baby. I get to have everything I’ve ever wanted—again. I thank Him every day for this beautiful blessing, and I know Emmanuelle is peering down on us with a smile on her beautiful, precious face. I can’t help but wonder if my Emme had a little something to do with this. Would you believe that my due date is January 3? This is one day after my twin daughters’ full-term due date … three years later. I get to walk this path again, seasons in sync; and I put all my trust in and all my burden on Him. I have faith that October will come and go, and this baby will continue to grow in my womb. I have hope that—as fall turns to winter—my last days of pregnancy will be bittersweet, joyful, peaceful. I have faith; I have hope. I believe because—after all—I am carrying a miracle.
And, now, allow me to introduce you to the bump. (And please disregard my mention of April dates. I will blame “pregnancy brain” on dating some photos in April vs. May. For context, I was unknowingly four weeks pregnant on April 26.)