We had always planned on two. It was a certainty in our minds. It factored into the number of bedrooms we looked for in our first home together. We’d talk about our hypothetical children as if they were just in the next room. When the timing was right they’d become a reality. We had no doubts.
Pregnancy brought me to my knees. Literally. Early on extreme morning sickness became hyperemesis gravidarum. I spent a day on the bathroom floor and an evening in urgent care. I went home with a prescription for Zofran, one of many yet to be filled.
“It should go away by eighteen weeks” they told me.
Eighteen weeks came and went. I continued to eat breakfast every morning though many days I didn’t digest it.
Cramping and bleeding alarmed me. My voice cracked on the phone to the doctor’s office. I couldn’t face another loss. An hour later I had my answer – placenta previa. Nothing to fret about. Ten weeks later – marginal previa. Be prepared for the likelihood of a scheduled C-section.
He rolled over to snuggle me and pet my hair. “It’s just a bad dream,” he soothed.
“No. Charley horse,” I whimpered.
The scene repeats every few weeks.
Suddenly the office felt hot. My head buzzed. My vision blurred. I lowered myself to the floor. Everything went black. The next thing I knew I was violently vomiting into my wastepaper basket. Not a lot had changed in four months.
“Don’t worry. You’ll forget,” well-meaning women insist.
The orange drink didn’t taste as awful as I expected. It made me optimistic for a positive experience. My hour wait was occupied with a book and a nose bleed. I failed the test. The orange drink for the three hour test fulfilled all my expectations from the first round. I choked on the first sip.
I laid as still as I could in the darkened room. Tears dampened my pillow. Sometimes I’d pinch the bridge of my nose or rub my temples. It didn’t change anything, but I did it anyway. Migraines are so much worse when all you can do is wait them out.
We had always planned on two. It was a certainty in our minds. Until we got pregnant.
“I don’t know if I can do this again.”
“I don’t think I want you to.”