What an incredible power that two little lines can have over your life…or sometimes just one line. There were many times in college that I would hope upon hope to only have one line show up. It was always a gut wrenching 5 minutes waiting for the test to be done deciding my fate. Later, after we had been married for a few years and wanted to bring a baby into the mix, we would both crowd into the bathroom feeling hopeful that maybe this would be our lucky month. Somehow it was the same gut wrenching feeling experienced in college, just with a different hope in mind.
Eighteen months into the waiting game and not a glimpse of pink in sight allowed this pink power to overtake my emotions and push me further and further down. Not to mention that this provided ample time to Google until my heart was content…or rather filled with discontent. I can’t tell you how many times my OB/GYN has told me to stop googling. Seriously, it is an addiction. When infertility strikes it delivers quite the blow and everything is affected. My ego, self-confidence, and self-awareness all took major hits. I can’t be the only one that walks into a room after having wished for two lines and have my shoulders feel a little deflated after only getting one…right?! Don’t get me wrong, I don’t live a life feeling defeated all of the time. I have learned how to take things in stride over the years, but those first 18 months changed me as a person.
The first time the magical pink lines appeared I was huddled in the bathroom by myself as Thomn was out of town. Pure elation and relief would be the best way to describe what I was feeling. I also knew that I wanted Thomn to experience this same joy, so I didn’t tell him. Instead I headed out to my favorite store and found the perfect onesie: white with a green turtle on it and the words “Worth the Wait” stitched below. The grief that followed this first miscarriage is a story for a different day.
Our second, third and fourth pregnancies all followed suit; happiness, delight, and respite from the weight on my shoulders. Each time after seeing those pink lines appear our blissful conversations would turn more serious. Could I really have another miscarriage? My googling nature would take over as I searched for something…anything to reassure me that I had definitely had my fair share and that this baby would stick. I was, of course, searching for something that Google could not give me; a miracle. In the meantime, as the pregnancies grew in number so did the amount of pregnancy tests that I took. I couldn’t let them go – each one that I took I would keep until a miscarriage was confirmed. These tests became part of me and every time I threw one away a felt a stab of sadness.
Our fifth pregnancy was not intentional. We were scheduled to see a fertility doctor to help us figure out how to successfully have a baby and during a train ride home from Chicago, prior to our visit, I was disgusted with the smell of Doritos coming from the person next to us. Thomn chuckled at me and told me I better take a pregnancy test when we got home. Sure enough, those two perfectly pink lines appeared within seconds. I laid down on the bedroom floor and cried. Not tears of joy, but tears filled with fear. What kind of answers could we possibly get from the fertility doctor when a miscarriage was impending? Thomn pulled me out of this dark place as only he can and we began to hope. I took 5 tests in a week’s span while we waited for results from the doctor. It was this time that our baby stuck and S became a reality. I kept all 5 tests through my entire pregnancy…it was only after she was home with us for a month that I felt I could let go. I took one final glance at the then pinkish lines and walked to the next room…there waiting for me was what I had been searching for all those years…our miracle.
