When we last left our heroine, she was waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

Like the breaking of the dawn, the little pink line slowly worked its way across the window.  The first line, indicating that the test was working was a bright flamingo pink. This second line resembled blush on barbie doll, faint, but just enough to recognize its existence.  Butterflies cautiously began to flutter in my stomach. At least I thought it was butterflies. For the first time in two years, I began to think it might be a little adorable clump of cells.  I was excited, but cautious the way a child is on Christmas morning, hoping that Santa brought her wishes but not getting too excited just incase the gift giver forgot something. The second test was as clear as mud in the dark.  The control line came in strong, but the results line only came in halfway. Final verdict…I was pregnant? Yay?

I was more confused than ever at that point.  I returned to the bedroom to a gently snoring sleeping man and slipped back into the bed.  He stirred and slipped his arm around me. He asked it everything was alright. I said no. He mumbled a sleepy reply. I laid there trying to get comfortable. Trying to make sense of it all.  At some point, I dozed off. I was awaken by a rather loud, “what!” Instinctively reaching out or him, I found his side of the bed empty. His six foot frame came stumbling like a newly turned zombie with a test in each hand.  I sat up and looked at him while shrugging my shoulders. We discussed if the tests where accurate and began to research ways to find out for sure. Calling a my healthcare provider, who promises to help their patients “thrive”, yielded the expected outcome of come and take a urine test in the lab.  Our excitement grew. The lab would be open in thirty minutes and then we would so know for sure. I began to drink several glasses of orange juice and water to build up enough ammunition in my bladder. It wasn’t until I had registered and been given the urine sample cup that I was told that given my urine would not be adequate because of a few false positives in my chart. The technician recommended that I do a blood test as well.  I agreed and was told that the results would be available within 48 hours. 2 days! I was on the verge of tears when a fellow patient in the lab, who had clearly been listening to the whole ordeal, suggested I go to a community clinic that could do a urine test with same day results. There was hope.

After breakfast and more liquids, we headed downtown to a local women’s clinic.  They asked me questions about my last cycle dates and collected my sample. It was the practice of the clinic to take the woman back for the exam and test by herself.  My partner had to wait in the lobby. Since then I asked him what that was like for him. He said all he could do was call his mom to keep his mind occupied because he was nervous. Sometimes I think I forget how hard all this had been on him.  In what, he assures me, was only 20 minutes (It felt like a million minutes), this small clinic had been able to tell me what two tests and a major medical conglomerate could not. It was about 11:00 am on a Monday. I came out of the clinic to find him in the courtyard on the phone.  I walked up to him with a folded sheet of paper and a poker face blank stare that would make the best card shark question his hand. He turned towards me and tried to read the look on my face. Trying hard not to give anything away, I asked him what he was doing in September. He asked why and I told him he was going to be a daddy.  What felt like the end of a journey, was only the beginning.