Skip to main content

The First Moment

December 1st is one of those days for me. I don't know if all mothers mark this day, but for me it is one that I will never forget. This was the day in 2004 when I realized I was pregnant.


This was not an easy journey. We had been trying to get pregnant for over three years. Many medical tests, fertility treatments, and months of disappointment later, we had essentially given up. The doctors had said that without major medical intervention (i.e. in vitro or use of an egg donor), we would probably not get pregnant. 


I wasn't ready for that battle. My body was tired. I was emotionally tired. We didn't have the money and I didn't feel like I could handle the emotional ups and downs of an in vitro process.  In early 2004, we decided that our best option was to pursue adoption. Roger and I enrolled in foster/adoption classes with a local agency and we had started what we thought was our journey to parenthood.  I put away the pregnancy tests and we started talking about home studies and domestic vs foreign adoption.  


Because of the way my crazy female body works, my doctor had put me on hormones to regulate my cycle. I had previously been on birth control but that now seemed ridiculously superfluous.  I needed to take these drugs every two months if I didn't have a period. So, before beginning my round of drugs, I needed to take a pregnancy test. 


Early on the morning of December 1st, I awoke for work as usual. I stumbled off to the bathroom and set about peeing on that stick. I had done this dozens of times, never receiving a positive result.  I was just getting ready to throw the test in the trash when I saw it. The plus sign.  I was in shock.


I went to tell Roger. He was in the other bathroom, also trying his best to wake up for the day. 
Me: "Um, Roger? Can you come out here?" 
Roger: "I'm kind of busy. I'll be out in a moment."
Me: "Um...ok." (I wait 5 seconds) "Can you hurry?"
Roger: (clearly annoyed) "Just. A. Minute."


I showed him the test. He said, "Do it again!"


We didn't have a spare test in the house so I sent him out, to Wal-Mart of all places, for a pregnancy test.  In my defense, it was the only place in Ashland open at 6:30 in the morning.


I set off for work but I took the test again during my mid-day break. Still positive. 
POSITIVE!!!
Photo by Joe Marinaro
I was cautiously optimistic, knowing that it still must be early. Coming off of the Thanksgiving break, I now understood why I had been so tired. I had chalked the fatigue up to holiday travel, overindulgence, and too much work. I also now understood why my boobs had been hurting for over a week.  Yes, in retrospect it seemed pretty obvious.


At that point, I still didn't know anything about that little bean that would become my Charlotte. She was a peapod, a speck. I didn't know her personality, her charm, or even her gender. 


But that was the day that she entered my heart. That was the day that she found a place in my life.  It is a day that I will never forget.   

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Edge of Seventeen

It's that time of year when the blog musings center on my grief journey. Every year, it seems like we are busy with end-of-the-year school activities and the start of summer, planning vacations, and then (kablam)...it's almost July 9.  Grief is funny. Grief is weird. I remember very early after Charlotte died, I watched the movie Rabbit Hole.  There's an amazingly poignant scene where Nicole Kidman's character is talking with another woman who lost a child over 10 years before (played by Dianne Wiest). She talks about grief being like a brick in your pocket. It never goes away. Sometimes you can even forget it's there. But it comes back and makes its presence known from time to time. And (she says) "it's what you have of them."    I probably did not fully realize then what a powerful and true analogy that is. As time goes on, our grief changes. Yet, it is always there on the edge of things. It sits in that pocket and sometimes makes itself known.  This

The Stages of Grief: COVID Edition

It's 2020. It's almost Christmas. We're still in the middle of a pandemic. In fact, we are experiencing what appears to be an incredible surge that is exerting tremendous pressure on our healthcare and social service system. The headlines are clear: we're not done with this madness and December 31, 2020 will not magically be the "end of it".  Earlier in the year, our family thought about whether we might be able to travel at this time. We thought that maybe the curve would be flat enough that we could take a few days away from home during the Christmas holidays. We realized that the pandemic would still be happening, but with the right protections and with prolific mask usage, we could get a much-needed change of scenery. During what is now (clearly) a delusional thought process, we booked a stay in Gatlinburg, Tennessee for the week of December 19th. Spoiler alert: we canceled the trip almost two weeks ago.  Canceling this trip was not a tragedy. In fact, I

Bittersweet Sixteen

I think about Charlotte every single day. However, this time of year, I'm flooded with all kinds of memories as we commemorate the anniversary of her birth. This year feels like a bit of a milestone. Sixteen.  If cancer had not taken her life back in 2010, I have a feeling I would be planning a massive birthday celebration this year. 16 always feels like a landmark year in someone's life.  I have been thinking a great deal about the last birthday party we had for Charlotte in 2009. We didn't know it at the time, but we were halfway through her treatment journey. We had been through three major brain surgeries and a few rounds of inpatient chemotherapy. Treatments were not going well. In fact, right after her birthday, we would make the trip to Houston, Texas where we would settle in for about 10 weeks of proton beam radiation treatments and a new customized chemotherapy protocol. This was the unspoken "last chance option" to beat that aggressive brain tumor into