You are both loved, and you are both wanted, I spoke again to those teeny-tiny embryos now hopefully making my body their home.
We arrived home, and my mom gingerly helped me out of the car and to my bed. I hugged Liz good-bye, thanking her for her support on such an emotional day.
Bed rest was not something I enjoyed. It was hard for me to sit still for days at a time. Being a single mom, I never had two days to myself in bed. I had no idea what I would do to occupy the time. Only two hours in, and I was going stir crazy.
Milo finally awoke from his nap and crawled into bed with me to spend some time watching movies. He, of course, had no idea what Mommy had been up to that day. No idea why I tried to keep my rambunctious boy from jumping on my bed and crashing into my belly. No idea how life was possibly about to change.
As we lay on that bed, I finally got him to settle down. He cuddled close to me, and I ran my fingers through his dark, curly hair, leaning in to take in his smell. My boy. Half his daddy in biology and 100 percent his daddy in spirit. He walked like him, talked like him, stood like him, laughed like him, looked like him. He had been a constant source of strength for me in this year of grief. I was determined to never let him see me cry and to only know his mommy as strength and peace. He, in turn, brought unlimited amounts of joy and laughter to our home. Many days I would wrap my arms around him and close my eyes, savoring the moment. All his daddy had ever wanted was to see his boy grow. It was his biggest fear he would not be able to.
“Sometimes when I’m rocking Milo to sleep, I tell him how much I love him, and to not worry, Daddy’s not going anywhere,” Joel once told me.
Knowing how deeply he wanted to be here, only not to be, made me try to take in the moments with my son all the more. And in this very moment, I was taking it all in and then some. I held my son close, whispering a prayer once again to the Lord.
“Please, please, please let this work,” I begged.
CHAPTER 7
Life after Death
I walked into the local CVS, keeping my eyes peeled for anyone who might know me. The last thing I wanted was to bump into someone during this covert operation. Of course the item I needed was at the very back of the store. It would not be an easy in and out. As I walked toward the pharmacy section, my eyes checked each aisle to ensure I would not bump into a familiar face. In Oklahoma, running into someone you know is not a hard thing to do.
Time is a funny thing. It goes by far too quickly when you are willing it to slow down. When you want it to speed up, it mocks you by stretching into endless hours and minutes. I had to wait ten days. Ten days to find out the results of a possibly life-changing procedure. After the allotted time had passed, I was supposed to go back to the clinic for a blood pregnancy test. Then I would find out results after an hour. They warned you not to take a home pregnancy test because it was so early you might obtain a false negative, only further heightening your stress and worry.
During my first IVF, I followed instructions just as I was supposed to. This time, I was finding it a little harder to obey. Each day I would will myself to just wait, repeating their warnings that the test could be negative and I would worry unnecessarily. Then again, it could be positive….
This was to be the last time in my life I would ever have the chance to be pregnant. Never before had I found out I was pregnant the normal way, by peeing on a stick. I had done so in the past only to receive bad news. If there was ever a time to break the rules, it was now. Since I would never again have the opportunity to find out if I was pregnant, I decided to do it on my own terms, not in a hospital setting. That is how I ended up finding myself at CVS on my drive home from work.
I quickly reached the back of the store where the pregnancy tests are kept, still hyperaware of my surroundings. Only a select few knew of my pregnancy intentions. The last thing I needed was for someone I knew to run into the widow buying a pregnancy test a mere six months after losing her husband. Talk about an easy way to get the rumor mill started.
I reached for the box that held two tests inside, just to be sure. Also, for good measure, I picked up a giant bag of peanut butter cups to buy along with my tests—both to make my first purchase less awkward and to have on hand in case I needed to drown my sorrows.
Thankfully I was able to make my purchases and get back to my car without any interference. I stuffed the bag in my giant purse and made my way home.
Later that evening my parents came over to visit with Milo and me. When everyone was playing and not paying attention I slipped out of the living room, heading to my bathroom. I closed and locked the door, making my way to my purse, where the pregnancy test was hidden. Carefully, I opened the box, reading the instructions several times to make sure I did everything correctly. Basic instructions—pee on a stick, wait three minutes, rejoice or cry, in that order. I followed it to a T, and soon I had a pregnancy test sitting on my bathroom counter, as I assumed my position from years past, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
One, two, three, four, five, six, I counted slowly in my head until I reached sixty, three times in a row.
It was time. My legs were shaking and my heart beating fast as I stood to my feet. I reached forward to look at the test.
Positive!
For the first time in my life, I saw a positive pregnancy test. Tears filled my eyes. Could it be true? It had worked! I was going to have a baby. Our baby. It was one of the most joyous moments of my life.
I sat there for a moment and thanked the Lord. Then I looked to the ceiling.
“We are going to have a baby, Joel,” I said with a grin.
The moment seemed special and all our own, for in that moment, we were the only ones who knew the news. It wouldn’t stay quiet for long.
I left the bathroom, test in hand, and headed to the living room, where my parents were with my son. Without saying a word, I handed the test to my mom. She looked at me in shock. Then I handed it to my dad.
“Well, you knew this was going to happen, didn’t you? Joel told you that you would have another child!”
I was still in disbelief. I knew what Joel had told me but had remained cautious in my belief it could actually be true. After years of trying to get pregnant, begging to be pregnant, I had tried IVF twice and twice had been successful.
Reaching down to Milo’s level, I pulled him in close.
“You are going to be a big brother, bubs,” I said softly.
He looked up at me and smiled, having not a clue what that meant.
I put the test on a table and took a picture, eventually sending it to the three girls in my life who knew what was happening. I received a flurry of excited responses. Though we had all expected it, we were all still shocked it had actually come true.
Later that night I lay in bed with my hand on my belly. Pregnant. I had trusted my gut, gone out on a limb, and it had worked. Wow, it had worked. My heart was bursting with thankfulness. I knew it wouldn’t be easy to have another child on my own. This was never the path I thought my life would take, but that was true in many instances. All I knew is this baby was loved and wanted and had a deep purpose for its life. How else can you explain the incredible way it came to be?
The next morning I took the second pregnancy test, for good measure. It, too, was positive, this time the plus sign showing up even more clearly. At this point I had no doubt; this was really happening. It wasn’t all just in my head. God was blessing us with another child. It was a gift of life, from the giver of life—a gift I had wanted so desperately and now accepted so humbly.
I still had to go in for my ten-day pregnancy test at the clinic, and I wasn’t looking forward to telling them I hadn’t listened to their warnings. Since the results were positive I hoped they wouldn’t be too upset at me.
They called me back to the room where my blood would be drawn. The nurse wasted no time in asking the big question.
“So, did you cheat and take the home pregnancy test?” she asked with a smile.
The way she worded the question made me believe I wasn’t the first and certainly wouldn’t be the last. I let her question linger for a bit before I replied.
“You know, I didn’t do it my first time with IVF, but ten days is a really long time to wait….” I left her hanging.
“Aaaaaaand the test said?” she said anxiously.
“The test said I am having a baby,” I responded.
A huge smile erupted on her face.
“Yay, yay! We tell patients a negative pregnancy test can be incorrect, but a positive one won’t lie. You really are pregnant.”
Word traveled fast in that little clinic. By the time I had used the restroom, gathered my belongings, and was heading out the door, I had a small crowd of staff gathered around.
“Oh my goodness, Sarah, you had a positive test!”
“We can’t believe it,” another said.
“We are so happy for you,” said yet another.
“Are you just beyond belief excited?”
I was excited but also overwhelmed at their exuberance. I smiled in return, thanking each of them for their well wishes.
The last encounter was with the veteran nurse, who stood quietly, right beside the door. As I moved forward to make my exit, she stopped to give me a hug.
“Congratulations. You are one brave woman,” she said as she wrapped me in her arms.
I didn’t feel brave, and didn’t need to, only blessed.
Forty-five minutes later the phone rang, and I received confirmation my blood test had shown I was indeed pregnant. An ultrasound would be performed two weeks later to find out if it was one or two babies. Until then I would go about life as normal, trying to pretend it was, when at that moment life was anything but. The clouds had rolled back. Light was peeking through. Our family was growing.
It didn’t take long for two weeks to pass. My body had finally begun to show signs of a pregnancy with morning sickness turning into all-day sickness. I was tired and exhausted already, chasing around a toddler and trying to keep my symptoms at bay. The day finally arrived to return to my OB’s office for an ultrasound. My friend Lauren accompanied me so I wouldn’t have to brave the appointment alone. It was nice to not have to sit in that waiting room all by myself. I was so grateful for her company.
They called my name and walked me back to the ultrasound room, instructing me to change my clothing and lie on the table. It wasn’t long before the doctor arrived.
“Well, hello there,” he said as he entered the room.
“Hi,” I said with a smile. “Me again.”
“Yes, it is,” he replied.
I could tell he was tempering any form of happiness for me until he was able to perform the ultrasound. He was, as he always was, trying to quell expectations until a confirmation could take place.
“Let’s see what we’ve got going on in there,” he said as the nurse flipped off the lights in the room.
He started in, moving around the wand. I looked to my right to the giant TV screen that showed exactly what was happening. There, I saw the most beautiful sight to behold. A small flicker of light.
Boom, boom, boom.
A heartbeat. Life. A teeny-tiny baby. Half-Sarah, half-Joel. No, he was not here physically, but his DNA was in full glory on that television screen.
The doctor continued to look around my womb.
“It looks like there is only one in there this time,” he concluded.
When you have two embryos being placed in your body, you want to root for them both, or at least I did. Both lives were loved and wanted. In my abnormal situation, I had continually placed the results in the Lord’s hands. He knew exactly what I could or could not handle. Having a toddler, along with twins, as a single mother would have been a lot. I trusted in His purposes. The disappointment did not linger long. One baby was meant to be, and one baby was what I would have.
“Only one, huh?” I asked.
“Yes, just one,” he confirmed. “But the heartbeat looks great, and the baby is measuring perfectly.”
He reached over to push a button on the machine that allowed me to actually hear the baby’s strong and beating heart. Whooshing, full, strong, steady.
I looked over at Lauren.
“Wow,” she said. “Unbelievable.”
The doctor printed off pictures from the event. You could already see the baby’s tiny little arms and legs. All pregnancies seem like a miracle, but this one was beyond a miracle. Everyone in that room knew it, and everyone quietly stood in awe.
He wrapped up the procedure and told me to call if anything abnormal happened. I jumped off the table, got dressed, and clutched the picture of the tiny, perfect little human growing inside my very womb. Life had visited me once again, and I willed it to stay.
The weeks wore on, and thankfully, nothing abnormal occurred. I sailed through my first trimester with flying colors, breathing a huge sigh of relief to reach the end. My pregnancy was progressing normally, just as it should. Miscarriage fears flew out the window, and with each passing month, it became all the more real; I was having a baby.
At the end of my first trimester, I decided to tell the world my news. By the world, I mean my little world. I started to show much faster this time and couldn’t keep the secret much longer. Eleven weeks in and my pants no longer fit as my belly grew fuller and rounder by the day. I decided to break the news the way most news is broken these days—via social media on my blog. The reaction was swift and all very positive. I had been worried about the opinions and judgments of others, unnecessarily. If anyone disagreed with my decision, that person was not voicing it to my face. It was fine with me if it remained that way. The secret was out; I would have to hide it no longer.
Eighteen weeks in my little baby had grown enough that a gender could be determined. I excitedly called to make the appointment. There was something about finding out the gender of the baby that made it even more real. The baby went from being called an “it” to a “he” or a she, a son or a daughter.
The morning of the ultrasound I awoke and dressed quickly. I put on my favorite necklace, a thumbprint of my son and a thumbprint of my husband, that I wore constantly. It felt good to have a piece of my husband present, constantly around my neck for me to remember he was still close in my heart. I walked to the kitchen and poured the first of many glasses of water I was told to drink in order to obtain a clear picture. My mom and I kissed Milo good-bye, left him with the sitter, and hopped in the car to head to the appointment.
Upon arrival, we were greeted by my friend Lauren and also my sister, Annie, each bursting with excitement.
“What’s the verdict?” asked Lauren. “What do you think it’s going to be?”
“Well, if Joel was right, I know it’s going to be a little girl,” I responded.
“Do you have a gut feeling?” asked my mom. “Do you really think it will be a girl?”
“I don’t know. Lately, I have been feeling like maybe it could be a boy,” I said, not wanting to commit either way.
All I wanted was for them to be able to determine the gender that day. I had heard horror stories from excited friends going in for the gender reveal, only to be told the little dear had his or her legs firmly crossed. They were then told to wait a few weeks and return. There had been so much buildup to that day already, I couldn’t imagine waiting any longer. Patience was never my strong point.
The couple before us left the room. Ultrasound pictures in hand, they walked out shaking their heads.
“The baby sure was being stubborn, wasn’t she?” asked the dad.
“Thank goodness you were finally able to get her to put on a show,” the mom said.
As they passed us, she stopped to wish us good luck and uncrossed baby legs. The time had come for us to make our way back to the room. I was beside myself with anticipation.
The tech had me lie down on the table and quickly got to work. She moved the paddle around, and looked, and looked, and looked. She crinkled up her
nose and made a face.
“It looks like this baby is going to make me work for it, too,” she said.
“Oooooh no,” I started in. “Please, please, try your best. I am dying to know.”
“I know you are,” she answered. “Don’t worry, I am an expert with stubborn babies.”
She continued to move the paddle around, pushing different sides of my belly to jostle the baby into submission. Each time, my beloved child would move for an instant and then return to a little ball and go back to sleep.
It was beginning to look like it wasn’t going to happen when suddenly the baby moved and the tech let out a low whistle.
“I think I saw what it is,” she said happily. “Give me just a few more minutes, and I am going to see if I can get a little clearer shot.”
My heart started to beat fast. I looked over to my cheering squad, who had their faces scrunched in anticipation, trying to decipher what they were seeing on the screen.
“Yup,” she said finally. “I saw what I needed to see. Congratulations, Mama, you are having a girl.”
The tears started to flow. My mind raced back to that day at the rehab center a year prior.
“Babe, you and I are going to have another baby. It’s going to be a girl.”
Joel had told me. I wanted to believe him then, but I didn’t see any way his prediction could be true. He had been through too much; we had been through too much. Yet here I was seeing his very words lived out. God had given us a promise, and my husband was audacious enough to speak it out. Now I was seeing with my very own eyes, his belief turning to truth.
I clutched my necklace, tracing along the lines of my husband’s thumbprint, wishing more than anything he was here in this moment.
“You were right, JoJo. A little girl. You were right,” I said softly.
I looked over to the group, who were hugging and crying, and laughing and cheering.
“Don’t cry,” the tech said, seeing my tears. “You will make me cry.”
“I’m sorry,” I responded. “I just knew it was going to be a girl. I knew it.”
From Depths We Rise Page 10