The Pregnancy Test

I couldn’t believe I had missed the phone call.

I had spent ALL morning in a state of overwhelming panic, waiting for my torture to end.

My vision blurred as I walked to the pathology centre earlier that morning to get my bloods taken for my final pregnancy test; it felt so surreal. I could hardly believe that this was the last time I was going to take this test.

Waves of nausea rippled through me, sending mixed signals. Am I pregnant or just unbelievably nervous? The anxiety made me want to vomit. I had read into my nausea before – it never meant anything – so I chose to ignore it again this time. I was so angry that I was nauseated; it gave me false hope. And I had vowed, after my first IVF cycle, that I would NEVER do a home pregnancy test again.

I kept that vow.

I never did.

The phlebotomist had come to know me well, and she was hopeful for me – in a guarded and cautious sort of way. She told me about her best friend that had gone through ELEVEN stimulated, fresh cycles to get her baby boy; this was years ago when the technology for freezing embryos was still being perfected. I was astounded, and inspired, by this woman’s resilience and determination.

I felt weak for giving up so soon, but putting in our last two embryos had finally derailed us. We were now deep in the grieving process, convinced that this was the end.

When I saw that I had missed the phone call from the fertility clinic I could hardly breathe.

My stomach twisted into a heavy knot and my heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest; it felt like I was having a panic attack.

“This is the end,” I thought – no, realised – as I called the nurse back.

My hands were shaking so violently that I couldn’t hold the phone. I put it on speaker and laid the phone on my bed.

My hands were cold and clammy, and I clasped them so tightly that I started to lose the feeling in my fingers.

This phone call was going to change my life forever.

The nurse answered.

“Hi, this is Katrina, returning your phone call,” I said weakly and breathlessly, barely able to get the words out.

I wanted to vomit. I wanted to die. I couldn’t stand the suspense any longer.

“Oh, hi Katrina,” she said cheerfully.

My heart stopped. I could barely hear her above the beating in my own chest, and I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it, but did she sound cheerful? No one had EVER sounded cheerful in this ENTIRE journey.

I must be imagining it.

She was unusually upbeat as she confirmed my date of birth.

I was so confused. My nausea seemed to triple in anticipation of the result.

“Honey, congratulations, you are pregnant.”

Yep. She was cheerful.

“What?” I cried. I still couldn’t breathe. My heart, if possible, beat even harder.

“You’re not just a little pregnant – you’re VERY pregnant,” she beamed, “Your HCG level is 1000.”

I started to sob.

“So the nausea is not all in my head then?” I squeaked out, asking for re-confirmation.

“No honey, you’re pregnant. You’re definitely pregnant.” I could hear her smile through the phone. After all the bad news they have to deliver to women on a DAILY basis, it must feel ecstatic to deliver good news once in a while.

“I can’t believe it,” I said through an onslaught of tears, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

I couldn’t stop crying.

The nurse informed me that they would be re-checking my HCG (Human Chorionic Gonadotropin) levels in one week’s time to make sure that this hormone (produced by the placenta after implantation) continued to rise – a sign of a viable pregnancy.

I thanked her again and hung up the phone.

My hands continued to shake violently. I couldn’t pick up the phone to call my husband; I kept it on speaker phone.

I was now acutely aware of the waves of nausea that I had previously dismissed as “anxiety”.

I couldn’t believe the moment had FINALLY come for me to call my husband with good news. It was so surreal. After 6 years of continual disappointment, I honestly thought this moment would never come.

My husband’s voice was tight when he answered the phone – he was expecting the worst.

I couldn’t stop crying, which didn’t help his apprehension.

“It worked,” I wept, “it worked.”

“What?!” He sounded shocked.

I couldn’t say anything else. I just kept crying.

My husband immediately hung up the phone and came straight home from work.

When he arrived I could tell he had cried the whole way home.

He lay next to me and wrapped his arms around me. I sunk into his embrace and continued to sob. We wept furiously together for what felt like an eternity.

It seemed too good to be true.