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Part 2 of 3
Seems my period is a couple weeks late. Boobs are awful sore. I go to visit my Dad and his wife in San Diego for the week end and mention in passing to my Dad's wife that my period is late and boobs are sore. "You're pregnant!" she exclaims. She's driving the car and I'm riding and I say, "Yeah, right." I pass it off and tell her jokingly that if I were to come up pregnant, then there's a real problem because my husband had a vas years and years ago. I didn't believe it was possible, but, my heart skipped a beat and I thought to myself, it couldn't be. Could it?
Thing was, having been pregnant before, I recognized the signs of pregnancy, and it seemed I had some of those signs.
So, I buy a pregnancy test kit at the market. I feel a little stupid, but it's what my inner voice tells me to do. Don't ask me to explain it. Don't analyze it. Sometimes you just have a feeling. I think, "wow, this is kind of neat. Never thought I'd have reason to try one of these home pregnancy test kits." I had recently watched an episode on Mad About You where the main character, Jaime, does a home pregnancy test and it was a funny show. They didn't used to sell those kits at the store you know. I take it home, pee on the litmus stick and watch as the line turns pink. I'm standing in the bathroom, holding the stick in one hand, instructions in the other, and thinking I've just gotta be reading these instructions wrong. I see a pink line. Instructions say pink means you're pregnant. Now I hear my inner voice saying, "huh?" I figure the instructions must be pretty poorly written considering I've read them ten times and I keep interpreting my results exactly backwards. If the instructions say that a pink line indicates pregnancy, then why, why am I looking at a pink line?
I go out in the living room and tell my husband. He asks me why I'm taking a pregnancy test when he's had a vasectomy, and since I don't really have an answer I completely ignore the question and proceed to tell him it's showing a positive result. I also tell him that the directions say the results are 99% correct...so...I must be in the one percent. Right? He still hasn't gotten past why I'm taking a pregnancy test and he also says that for all practical purposes 99% is the same as 100%. Now I'm thinking uh-oh. And my dear husband looks very bewildered and not too happy.
So for the two days before my doctor appointment I see-saw between thinking, "please, please, don't let me be pregnant," and "wait a minute, if I'm pregnant isn't this kind of a miracle?" I also hope that there isn't something else wrong with me. I had all the feelings that so many women go through when you realize you might be facing an unplanned pregnancy. No need to elaborate upon this because women know exactly what I'm talking about. It's an emotional roller coaster. I rationalize that, after all, it is just a home pregnancy kit, and probably they are not so hot shot reliable as the t.v. commercials say. I find some solace in this thought. I keep this thought in my pocket.
Now I'm at my doctor appointment. I do the urine test and this really sweet nurse informs me that the results are positive. I'm standing in the nurse's office where everyone's little urine samples are and I glance around at the counter to see that all the litmus sticks look strikingly similar to the one I used at home from the home pregnancy kit. (The actual expletive that went through my mind at the time is unprintable here!) Egads. Oh my gosh! This is really not a good sign. I grab the nurse by the elbow. "No, it can't be positive," I insist, "my husband's had a vasectomy". "How long ago?" she asks. "Seventeen years ago," I say. Her eyebrows go up. Way up. I'm a little upset and go on to explain that my husband is 55 years old and has already raised his kids and we had just begun planning out our/his retirement. Shaking my head, I tell her I can't be pregnant.
Now incidentally, I had quite recently started consuming tea at work, instead of coffee, thinking it was healthier. So I suddenly get a really bright idea. I'm drinking teas all day long. All different kinds of tea. Tons of tea. It must be the tea causing these test results to come out positive. It could be. Right? Some kind of weird chemical reaction. Well...
I see the doctor next. She feels my tummy, etc., etc., and says, "yes, you are pregnant." I tell her about my husband's vasectomy seventeen years ago. I wait to hear her reply and she says she's never heard of this, after seventeen years. This is no comfort to me and so I share my theory with her that perhaps it's all this tea that's making my body seem to be pregnant. Probably humoring me, she asks what kind of tea. I tell her and she shakes her head and says, "noooo, I don't think that's it." Looking back, I figure she probably thought I was really grasping for straws there, proposing that the tea drinking is making me seem prego! She sees I'm becoming increasingly agitated and assures me that she won't let me leave the office until we verify with absolute certainty that I am indeed pregnant.
We do an ultrasound. And there, on the black and white monitor, was Baby Julian. Or at least, it was the gestational sack that Baby Julian was growing in. I didn't know back then, that it was our Baby Julian, but there he was. I was 5 1/2 weeks pregnant. We could see the heart beating. It is, and was, the single, most awesome moment of all my years on Earth. It was September 25th, 1997, almost three months to the day since our son, David, had moved out of the house...we were going to have a kid in the house. Again.
I started shaking all over. I was laying on the table trembling from head to toe and couldn't stop. The doctor says to me, "you're shaking," and I say, "yeah, I'm shaking." I get dressed and drive home. Funny, I didn't see any stoplights all the way home! I was crying and scared and worried and incredulous. I had to tell my husband. He knew about my appointment and was waiting for me to phone him at work.
It's only about two miles to my house and I make it home safely. I dial his work number, he answers, and I try to say "J." but nothing comes out. My vocal cords are paralyzed. I think, oh no, he's going to think this is a crank call and he'll hang up on me. Finally I say his name, but that's all I can say. I can't get anything more than one syllable out of my mouth. He knows exactly what my voice means. He asks me if I can drive. I say yes. He tells me to come pick him up.
My poor old husband. He can't believe what is happening. I can't believe what is happening. In the car he says he has a question he'll ask me only one time. I figure it doesn't take a PHD in the Obvious for anyone reading this to figure out what this question is. He asks if there's anyone else. Nope I say. Just you.
At home we talk some more. We cry. My husband who usually needs only six hours of sleep per night slept almost nine hours that night. A peek at reality barreling down in our direction exhausts us both.
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