On Friday night before a night out on the town, I figured I may as well take a home pregnancy test. I told myself that I had a special feeling about this cycle. There is something so anxiety-inducing about that 10 minute wait for the test to develop. I had an argument with myself - was I foolish for holding out hope during a natural cycle, or could I feel that something was different?
I looked down at the test, and caught my breath. Was it there? Was it not there? Perhaps there was perhaps a very tiny second line. The smallest, thinnest positive I have ever seen. I took a photo, and popped it in my purse to show my husband. Yes, I carry around urine-stained antibody tests in my handbag.
I added 36 weeks to get the date of June 24 2011. I wandered into the spare room and imagined it as a nursery. I showed my husband and eventually convinced him there was a second line. But there was no card this time, no talk of maternity leave or childcare. We both agreed to wait it out and see what had happened. After a chemical pregnancy and a miscarriage, we have been bitten by two lines before.
This morning, I woke up early full of excitement. All night I had been dreaming of a June baby, and so happy that I didn't have any more injections, follicle counts, or embryo transfers ahead of me. No waiting by the phone each afternoon for the results, no hoping that our frozen embryo defrosts, no two week wait. I was already one month into my nine month pregnancy.
My pregnancy test was waiting for me, and I watched it develop with anticipation, waiting for that second line to burst into colour. Three minutes past - no second line. And then ten minutes past, and there was still no second line.
I was no longer pregnant.
Once again, we have seen two pink lines only to have our hopes dashed.