Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Or Not.

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9:15 am: Positive home pregnancy test. It's a faint second line, but it's really there. I stare and stare. A sweat breaks across my lower back. I leave a message on J~'s cell:

I want to talk to you... about... something.

9:30 - 10:30 am: I post a photo of the test on this blog. I have some happiness, some trepidation about the demands of parenthood. Though I know it may very well happen, I'm surprised to note that I'm not worried about miscarriage.

So why this nervous shaking in my thighs?

10:30 am: J~ returns my call and I tell him the news. Our conversation is guarded – upbeat, but not ecstatic.

11 am: It's decided - I will ride with my bike club on Saturday, despite the cold I'm fighting, despite the pregnancy. I find myself having an imaginary conversation with an imaginary Devil's Advocate:

D.A.: With your history, I'm surprised you don't just crawl into bed and stay there for the next nine months.

ME: No way. I don't want it that bad.

My response catches me off guard. I don't?

4 pm: I have not veered from my original plans for the day – work (client design stuff, plus I'm preparing for an art show, only two weeks away and still lots to do), a walk, and a drive to the bike shop to pay for my new bicycle.

This is no small purchase. I've resisted for a year, unsure of my commitment to the sport, reasoning that if I were to get pregnant again, I would not be riding much. Last year, a fancy new bicycle seemed like a leap of faith in the wrong direction. But a year later I'm still riding, still loving it. And another pregnancy has not emerged.

Until today, of course.

Isn't this the way it always goes in the movies?

Okay, now I'm getting a little excited.

4:30 pm: I plunk my credit card down on the counter along with a patch kit, a spare inner tube, a few tools and accessories. The shopkeeper is chatting with her friend, commiserating about how, with young children, they no longer find the time to ride like they once did.

I resist the urge to blurt that I am pregnant, resist the pull to think about what they are saying. Resist also the desire to add an expensive form-fitting windbreaker to my purchases.

5:30 pm: Home again, I do another HPT, anxious to see a darker line. But it's just the opposite, fainter than the first test, almost nonexistent.

I feel completely deflated.


7 am: another HPT: Negative this time, no doubt about it. Damn.

9:30 am: Bleeding. And to think - my period wasn't even due until Sunday! If I hadn't done the test, I never would've known an egg had been fertilized. Bum egg, bum sperm, bum uterus. Who knows.

10:30 am: pick up the co-op order. I look at all the other co-op members. It feels strange, and sad, that no one knows.

1 pm: 40-mile bike ride with my club. Feeling happy.

It makes me nervous that I'm happy.

Another 30 miles with the club followed by a two-hour nap on the couch. Still feeling happy. I can't make heads or tails of it.


I'm troubled that I don't seem to have any lingering feelings about this miscarriage. I admit to K~, my friend and counselor, I may be more excited about my work and riding my bike at this point then I am about getting pregnant.

And then it hits me, and I start to cry.

It's been a long, hard road. It didn't lead where I had hoped it would lead. This was not the goal. I did not want to find myself here. But it's happened, and there's nothing to be done.

I've moved on.


bleu said...

I am so sorry for what you are going through. I have been there. It sucks, plain and simple. I also wanted to suggest in the future, never use the blue dye tests. I had a cycle with 4 false positives on them, 4 different tests and I had a beta and there was never implantation even it came back less than 1 so they truly were 4 crap tests. When we are dealing with this battle and also learning things earlier than most usually would the last thing we need is crap tests or tests not telling it to us right. I have no clue if that happened for you but I thought I would suggest it for future reference.

Either way it hurts just the same, the loss of what could have been is a hard and real loss.

Much love.

Just me said...

I'm sorry, Amy. :( 'Moving on' would definitely be bitter-sweet, but I'm glad to hear you are enjoying the things in life that make you happy. :)

I am bummed about your 'close call'. I was hoping this would be it for you!

Eva said...

It's better to know that you feel that way than not, perhaps. Sorry, though.

Andrea said...

Bitter sweet is definitely the way to describe it, and really... your whole post was that way. I have been reading you for years and always hoping...

Thinking about you and glad that you have found... if not peace, then, comfort.

WonderMama said...

I'm so sorry. You seem to be at peace though, and I'm very glad for you.

Also- I just wanted to second bleu's comment on the blue dye tests. I've gotten very convincing evaps and false positive with them too.

Shannon said...

...I think you had to go through this journey this way to know what you know right now.

And tomorrow, you will be someplace else and the next, some place different than that.

And yet, you'll always be exactly where you are meant to be in the moment; your wisdom always growing; YOU always expanding.

I am so happy for the peace you have today.

Anonymous said...

I know that you are loved just for who you are and whatever you might become! What a journey life is eh?

Anonymous said...

I am so sorry for your loss, but happy for your positive attitude. Attitude is everything and you do a remarkable job of keeping on the sunny side.

La La said...

Oh hun, I am so sorry. Thinking of you.

Suzanne said...

dammit. I'm sorry.


Paint it Black said...

Hi. I just tuned in to your blog and read a few plus visited your art bog. Just wanted to say Hi and I'm sorry for your loss. Your colourful art is inspiring and diverse, I love it.