I have been nauseated for two weeks, and depressed and crying and so tired. The job I have held at Rice for the last six years is coming to a close, I have been looking for work, but have been very unsuccessful in this down economy. Until today, I thought the two were related. Admittedly it seemed strange, to be crying so much during the day, so unmotivated to get out of bed some days, so affected by something that is such a part of life, something I knew to expect. Even on the days I feel a little more bright-eyed, my stomach turns and I find that I need to lie down. Exercise, what has always worked so well for me and my mood, isn’t workable at the moment for how sick I feel. And then there is the fact that I am late.
This morning I said to Richard as we exited our daily shower and commenced getting ready, “I wonder if there is any correlation between my period being late and feeling so nauseated.” He said, as anyone would have to the same question, I suppose, “It sounds like you’re pregnant.” Still, I blew it off. But the nausea was starting to concern me. Throughout the day we texted one another about a possible doctor’s appointment, and I talked to his mother, and we made an appointment for a couple of days later with his childhood family doctor, Dr. Swenson. I had lunch with my friend Lindsey, stopped by CVS Pharmacy on my way home, and bought a box of three pregnancy tests.
I felt my breath catch as I sat down, doing what needed to be done, setting it aside so it could work. The positive sign showed up immediately, the horizontal line lighter than the vertical line. I remained unconvinced, so I logged on to the test’s website to see if a weaker line meant anything. A few hours later I took the next one, and a few hours after that I took the third one. All positive, all positive immediately. But, but, the doctors, they tested my hormones last year, they all said it wasn’t possible. Apparently, it is, with the right pair, the right timing, the right happenings in the universe, some of my more mystically-minded friends might say (and have).
I texted Richard when the first test came back positive. His response felt perfect to me: “Wow! You are beating all the odds. Lupus down, hormone imbalance gone, you are an anomaly.” When I picked him up from work this afternoon, he told me about his day: “Nothing else exciting happened, except for this,” he said, rubbing my belly.
