Yesterday morning, we went to see Dr. Swenson. This begins the first of many doctor appointments Richard attends with me. ”So, you’ll come get me at nine fifteen, and we’ll head over there.” I have no idea what he means at first, so I ask him again and again why (he doesn’t really like repeating himself, but maybe this is that “pregnancy brain” I later read about, get accused of, then resent). ”I’m going with you to the doctor, aren’t I?” I stopped and smiled. I had no idea he’d even think of going, or that he would go to every subsequent appointment for the rest of the pregnancy.
So I drop him off at work–in later months, Richard will tell me to rest and this ritual we started when we first met will fall away, to be replaced by others–and pick him back up around nine. We head to his family doctor, his childhood doctor, which feels sweet to me. The doctor remembers Richard and knows him well, and asks about his family; I’m reminded of my own childhood doctor who I haven’t been to see since I was in middle school, maybe. “Dr. Incalcaterra just too hyper,” I remember my father saying when I was in high school and saw his associate, Dr. Johnston, who prescribed me the round of penicillin I found out I’d grown insensitive to.
I explain my symptoms. ”Any sensitive here?” he asks, gesturing at his chest. I nod and confirm, “Not so much lately, but a couple of weeks ago it was pretty bad.”
“And you’re nauseated. And three positive home tests.” He stops and smiles at both of us. ”Well,” he says, laughing, “I’m pretty sure you’re pregnant, but I’ll do a test if you want.” I tell him I do, and he says he’ll have the results in a couple of days, and to call in the morning.
I put it on my calendar–as if I’d forget–and call around ten thirty, not wanting to seem too eager. ”Positive,” the woman says on the phone when I call, as if I were asking about the flu or something more innocuous, but I suppose pregnancy is no big deal for a lot of people. I thought it was impossible for me. ”Would you like the results?”
I didn’t think that was allowed. I’m one more level excited, especially because at this point, the whole thing feels surreal and as if it isn’t really happening. That will be proof. She faxes it to me at work, I run by there in the afternoon to pick it up, and I take it home. I stare and stare at it, wondering if this is really happening to us.
The first thing I do when I hang up with the doctor’s office is text Richard. He asks who we should tell first. And so I send an email to my family, my stepmother tells her daughters, I email my brother and mother separately, and Richard forwards my email to his family. The next day, Saturday afternoon (after an outside dance rehearsal for a movie Richard will have a role in), we post the news on Facebook with a photo of the three plus signs. Our journey begins.
