Last night, as I was getting ready for bed, I couldn’t help thinking that when the sun came up in the morning, everything would be different. Matt and I have spent a year and a half trying to make a baby, doggedly pushing through tests, surgeries, injections, and check-ups while racking up thousands of dollars in debt. We have no frozen embryos to use in case this first round of IVF didn’t work, and no money to start another round of IVF from scratch. Adoption and surrogacy are even more expensive, so they’re ruled out, too. Stakes are high on this little gamble of ours.
It all comes down to today’s blood test. Eleven days have passed since our embryo transfer. Each day I tell Matt, “I don’t think it worked” and then slump around the house like Eeyore in sweat pants.
At 9 AM I head over to LabCorp and get my blood drawn. Then I come back home and sit on the sofa reading through posts on TWW to torture myself a little more. The IVF coordinator at the fertility clinic is supposed to call with the results of my test at 1 PM, so I have plenty of time to let my mind roam wild and free like a rabid raccoon.
At 11:45 AM my cell phone rings. I recognize the number instantly. “Matt!” I yell. “It’s them!” Matt runs into the room as I pick up.
“Hi, Kate,” says the coordinator.
Then a hundred million years go by before she speaks again.
“Can you tell I’m smiling?”
“You’re kidding,” I say.
She’s not. In fact, my bloodwork came back with such a high beta count that I don’t have to take the second test in a few days to make sure.
“You’re definitely pregnant,” she assures me. “Time to celebrate.”
I burst into tears, blubbering and snotting all over the phone. We thank her, hang up, and hug each other’s guts out. Afterwards, Matt builds a fire in the fireplace and orders us an eggplant parmesan pizza. My best friend, Mary, comes by with her two adorable kids and a bottle of sparkling cider. Life is good. We are lucky and I won’t ever forget it.