August 21, 2012

"Your dates don't match up," My doctor informed me.  "According to your dates you should be farther along, so don't get your hopes up," she said, her smile sad, her brow creased.  Seeing the tiny dot on the ultrasound earlier had set off a range of emotions, but nothing could have prepared me for the profound love I felt for that tiny little speck of a human, my baby.

"The yolk sac looks good," the ultrasound tech informed us.  I couldn't stop crying.  Could this really be, after all these years?  My husband held tightly to my hand as we both stared at that little dot on the screen and tried to imagine it turning into a baby.

"But I was told I don't ovulate," I told her.

"Well, baby girl, you obviously do!" she said cheerily.  I found the term of endearment both comforting an amusing; amusing since I am at least a decade and a half older than she is, but still, something about it made me feel better.  It made me feel not quite so old, like maybe I wasn't some circus freak who accidentally found herself pregnant.  Maybe everything would be okay.

My doctor shattered that dream in 5 seconds flat.  Another staff member came in and gave me a hug.  She kissed me on the cheek and told me that God gave me this blessing and that everything was going to be okay.  I so desperately wanted to believe her.  Tears slid down my cheeks and I nodded, not trusting my voice. I'm not sure if it was seeing that blip on the ultrasound, but I wanted this baby.  Badly.

My doctor's nurse, who was pregnant herself, sat down in front of me and handed me a stapled stack of papers containing information on what I can and can't eat, what medicines are okay to take, what to expect with the beginning stages of pregnancy, and then told me to buy some pre-natal vitamins, making sure they have DHA and Folic Acid.  Again, I nodded numbly and tried not to think too much.

We silently left the office with a stack of papers, 2 square ultrasound pictures, an appointment to come back in 10 excruciatingly long days to see if the pregnancy was viable, and an explanation of what I could expect if I were to miscarry. I couldn't speak for fear of falling apart.  Why would we be given this gift only to have it taken away? Little did I know I would ask myself that many times over the months.

We decided to tell our parents, who we are very close to. I just couldn't imagine not telling my mom, and if we told my mom then we had to tell the other parents, too.  I was both excited and nervous.  I didn't want to give them this hope for a grandchild and have it taken away, but we felt we needed support.

"Mom, we're not going to Ireland."