Waiting for Confirmation (4w0d)

I have a doctor’s appointment Thursday afternoon to confirm I’m pregnant. Because, you know, I’m just a dumb woman who took a couple of tests and I can’t be trusted to know I’m actually pregnant until the lab at the doctor’s office does the same test and says it’s true. Then I can begin dealing with the medical healthcare system. Fun!

I have moments, hours even, when I forget I’m pregnant. I guess that’s not unusual, given that I don’t have any symptoms yet. My period isn’t even technically late yet. But I’m definitely pregnant. The question is whether I will stay this way. I haven’t had the best luck in the past, but somehow things seem to be aligned this time around. Strange coincidences abound. I think that’s why I tested so early.

When we lived in Charleston, I was lucky enough to have a wonderful civilian doctor within the military health care system. Dr. Belil is Algerian with a beautiful, lilting French accent. “Mrs. Wright,” she would say, “you have allergies and should not have pets!” I didn’t listen to her, but I still liked her. She is the best doctor I’ve ever had—a true believer in the mind/body connection and a wonderful, warm and funny woman.

We left Charleston in January 2000 and I sent Dr. Belil a couple of Christmas cards over the years. That was the extent of our contact in over eight years until she called me on July 11. I remember the date because my wallet was stolen on July 10 and when I heard her message: “Kristina, you’ll never believe this!” I at first thought it was someone calling to say my wallet had been turned in. Then I recognized the voice as her message went on to say she’d found my address and looked up my phone number. She wanted to catch up.

We missed each other's phone calls a couple of times over the next few days and then she left for Europe, but the coincidence struck me, even then. Dr. Belil was the one who told me I was pregnant when I lived in Charleston. She was the one who helped me deal with the aftermath when I had a miscarriage that left me devastated. She was there, this calm and peaceful woman, to comfort me. The fact that she called me a week or so before I conceived just seems like a sign. If you believe in such things. Which I do.

I told someone Dr. Belil is my guardian angel. Perhaps she is. There are others, too, I think. I’m hopeful my guardians will get me and baby through this pregnancy safe and healthy. I’m trying to be at peace with all of this, not stress and worry, as is my nature. What will be will be, and all that. It’s hard. If this works out, my life will be forever changed. Scary. Exciting. Scary. Am I ready for it? Are we ready for it? I hope so. I think so. I guess we’ll find out.

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Still (3w5d)

I took another First Response test. No doubt this time—two pink lines. I’m pregnant.

Still.

The Magic Word (3w3d)

This will likely end up on a blog at some point, but right now it’s just a Word document. I took a pregnancy test at 10:30 this evening (well, yesterday evening), expecting it to be negative. I’m only ten days past ovulation, but I thought I’d give it a shot anyway. I just had a feeling… call it intuition or impatience or insomnia. 

First Response: one solid pink line and… one very, very faint pink line. Could it mean I’m pregnant?



I studied those lines for several minutes, convinced I was imagining the second line. I took a couple of pictures, just in case, since Jay is deployed. I need a record of the event, right? I still couldn’t tell. The line got darker over an hour or so, which doesn’t mean anything, I know. The test guidelines are very clear about not attempting to read the test after an hour. I could see something, though. The kit said if there was even a faint line, I was pregnant. But how faint is faint? I knew I couldn’t go to bed and sleep until I took another test. I never really enjoyed chemistry and this was why—inconclusive results.

I had the First Response test lying around from months past, but my ovulation predictor kit came with a free pregnancy test. Thankfully, it was a Clearblue Digital. There was no question this time.  The chemistry experiment was successful.

Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.



The word looks strange if you stare at it long enough, as I have been for the last thirty minutes. Pregnant. I don’t know when the digital stops showing the result, but it’s still there. Pregnant.

It seems I’m pregnant. I’m 41 and I’m pregnant. After only having two months to try while Jay was home, one of those when I had pneumonia, I didn’t think it would happen until the end of this year. Maybe even next year. Maybe never. But it was a mid-deployment rendezvous in St. Augustine, Florida that got us here.

Pregnant.