December 2014- Albuquerque, NM
Something was off.
Upon weighing myself, I realized that I had lost almost 10 pounds, unintentionally, placing me at a weight that I hadn’t been at since prior to middle school. However, I was bloated. My pants felt more snug, if anything. The back of my neck was breaking out, which had never happened before. I felt sluggish. And weak.
My husband was busy, working as a pastor in the daytime, and taking classes to earn his Masters in the evenings. I didn’t want to bother him with one more thing. Didn’t want to make him worry, when he already had enough on his plate.
Christmas was fast approaching, and with it, a trip to my parents house in California.
Just put it off until Christmas, I convinced myself. Have a good trip. I can deal with this later.
As the trip got closer, it just got worse. I wasn’t myself. That much was obvious.
It’s the endo… I thought. What had the doctor said? I should have my ovaries removed? Now it was, what… 7 months later? Why hadn’t I listened to him? If my condition had gotten that much worse in a year and a half, why wouldn’t I believe that it would only keep getting progressively worse?
Stupid…Why was I being so stupid?
The trip came quickly, and on the 700-mile car ride there, sometime between singing twinkle little star with Sweet Pea, and indulging my worries with Peanut m&m’s, I let my husband finally know how I’d been feeling.
But, I held back a little. Because that’s what you do when you don’t want your loved ones to panic.
We continued on, arrived safely, and enjoyed a few days with my parents.
Christmas Eve, California
I was resting on the couch in my parent’s living room, listening to Sweet Pea’s delightful squeals as she played nearby with her grandma. Well, my body was resting. My mind was racing. The warmth of my husband’s hand brushed my shoulder, as he announced he was headed to the store and wanted to know if I needed anything.
I signaled for him to stop and come closer, making sure no one else would hear.
“Something’s off,” I told him. “I just don’t feel right… I know it’s gonna be a waste of money, but can you just get the cheapest pregnancy test there is? I know it’s gonna be negative, but…” I tapered off, and he gave me a sympathetic smile and nod, assuring me he’d bring one home, yet like me, knowing it’d be a waste of money. Like all the ones before it.
An hour later he walked in, and handed me the box. There was no excitement, because I knew how this would go. It would say negative. And then I’d worry. Because something was definitely wrong. Maybe the cysts had somehow turned into cancer. That’s just where the mind goes.
2 minutes later
My hand was shaking, the stick getting more blurry and difficult to read with each second. I grabbed the box, flipping it over frantically, trying to find the side that had the code on it. That showed that the plus sign indeed meant pregnant.
The shaking continued, my hand and the stick, as one. And on it…
a plus sign.
The boldest, darkest, most non-vague plus sign I’d ever seen.
I looked at the box, then at the stick. At the box, at the stick. On and on, until finally, my mind comprehended what was happening. What was actually finally happening after 5 years of hoping, wishing, praying… every emotion that had been pent up, burst it’s way out of me.
The tears made it hard to see, but still I persisted, staring that stick down. You’d better not be lying to me.
But I knew, it wasn’t.
It had one job to do.
And it had done it.
It had given me two little crossed lines that meant more to me in that moment than just about anything else on earth.
Then, I remembered my husband.
Oh, my goodness, my husband.
I had dreamed so many times of the way I’d announce this moment to him, and I always longed to do it in such a cute, thought-out way, the kind of announcement you see on TV and in the movies. Give him a moment he’d remember forever.
But I knew he was standing just on the other side of the wall, washing dishes and probably wondering what was taking me so long.
I frantically wiped the wet away, willing my cheeks to dry and my eyes to become un-reddened. I had to suck it up and give him his magical moment. But as I wiped, more tears just replaced those. There was no stopping it.
Finally, the dam broke, and the somewhat contained crying turned into sobs that I was certain everyone else could hear. So much for the moment… here we go.
I burst out of the bathroom, right past my mom and Sweet Pea who were playing on the floor nearby, and turned the corner to find my husband in the kitchen, standing at the sink.
His eyes met mine and he turned toward me just in time for me to throw my arms around him and wail. His arms held me as tightly as I was holding onto that stick. After a minute, his hands found my waste and he pushed me away enough to see my face…
“Did it say…?” His eyes were hopeful, needing verification.
I couldn’t speak.
I held up the stick, my chin dimpled, my lips tight… and shook my head up and down.
His arms pulled me in, tighter than before, and I could feel his chest beginning to heave in and out too. Our shoulders were getting soaked with all the tears that had once been tears of defeat, discouragement, and doubt.
But this time, they meant joy, and hope, and praise.
We continued on like that for I don’t know how long, before finally parting and staring at that little stick together, both still taking in the moment, and what those two little lines meant.
Those blurry little lines.
I glanced back up at him, his eyes just as wet as mine, his face filled with disbelief and utter shock.
In spite of the doctor’s diagnosis, God had done it. He’d begun a new life deep inside of me… And in spite of us thinking He was 5 years late, this, His timing, was perfect.
What a Christmas gift…
I was finally pregnant.
Continue reading the story here.