The odds weren’t against us, but we were approaching our our mid-thirties, biologically short on time. Everything was normal and the eventual diagnosis was “unexplained infertility.” A mystery I was determined to solve. Life was suspended during those years of not-knowing. All energy was focused on one intent. I changed my diet to gluten-free, caffeine-free, alcohol-free, sugar-free. Mixed maca root and water like a magic potion. Consulted with doctors, acupuncturists, clairvoyants, priests. Nailed a wishbone above our bedroom door. Prayed Catholic novenas, Lakota blessings. Meditated. Built cairns on the shore. Asked of the sea, of the air, of the trees.
It was two years before we lucked upon health insurance that included fertility coverage, which would end up being exhausted on months and months of tests. Tests that ultimately provided very few answers. The endocrinologist lost interest in us as our coverage bled out, so eventually we decided to take the last bit of money to a new doctor. He seemed friendly and more hopeful. When journeying through a test of faith, the act of hope-seeking is repeated again and again. Omens arrive as great blue herons, roadside signs, changing weather. You must renew and renew and renew faith. When it is written on your heart, etched in your bones, you do not give up.
The new doctor began by running blood work, the same blood work I’d had seven months before with normal results. It was an easy hurdle the first time and would be again this time. But when the call came, he said the numbers had changed. The blood work indicated almost no ovarian reserve; suddenly, supposedly I had only a few eggs left. Even if we’d had additional fertility coverage, I would not be an ideal candidate for IVF. A few days later came Mother’s Day. I focused on my mom, on gratitude. But I carried a heavy heart. My cycle was a few days late, but after receiving the devastating blood work results, it seemed past foolishness to even hope. I did not bother with a pregnancy test for another two days.
It was Tuesday morning after Mother’s Day 2013. Chris was in the shower. We were getting ready for work, a regular day. I ripped open the foil wrapper on what felt like the millionth pregnancy test. I started breakfast while I waited for the result. Hope, that irrepressible little drummer, thumped in my heart. I returned to the bathroom to check the test, not wanting to look. I wanted to suspend that tiny hopeful feeling, hold it a little longer. When I picked up the test and found a plus sign, I screamed and my heart exploded and I jumped around like a maniac on a pogo stick. Elation will send a body straight into the air. Chris pulled back the shower curtain with a big beaming smile and said, “I knew it.”
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