ngdawg

Ten years and it had come down to this moment. It would be my next to last chance, I was told. Then I would have to be released to find another way to achieve the dream I had for so long.
Needles injected drugs and took blood for months. My arms looked like that of a junkie, my hips and stomach were bruised and lumpy. These routines were just routine and my hopes were the same as every time before-high but knowing deep down this may not be the time.
The day came and I was wheeled into a cold, green stark room. People swathed in the same drab green with squares of creased cloth covering their faces greeted me with cheer. I felt no cheer and began to cry uncontrollably. The doctor wondered aloud and I had no real answer. Scared, I guess. He had been with me for half of this journey-he knew me literally inside and out. He became a friend of sorts, taking time to talk, to joke, much to the chagrine of those waiting with the same hopes I had. I even made a promise-if this works, I'd smother him with pounds of his favorite cookies.
We talk some more; he makes a joke about my glasses being on my face still-what was I hoping to see? As we talk, I feel the cloud of unconsciousness start to take hold and, knowing that was done on the sly, turned blurrily to the man I had put my faith in and uttered, "You son of a bitch". Lights out.
Two weeks pass. It's July 4th, a Saturday and it's going to be a busy day. I don't feel well and tell my mate to go to the store-it didn't work. I had blood tests that morning, but I wouldn't know the results until Monday, but my heart knew. Another chance gone. My spouse, my friends would have none of this talk. At their urging I buy an EPT, a total waste of money in my mind. But the color the package said a positive would be showed quicker than the time allotted. Had my ceilings been a foot lower, I may well have crashed through them in joyful leaps. But I still had to wait for Monday.
We spend Sunday at a sister's and everyone is there. My youngest sister comes to my side and whispers "you're pregnant, aren't you?" Tell no one, I tell her, but yes. She just knew it the minute I walked in.
That night, a frantic message is on my machine. My case nurse. So excited was she that her already high-pitched English accent was operatic now. But all she is saying is, "call me immediately", repeatedly with a list of phone numbers. I know, Mary. I already know.
Monday morning brings me back to where the journey started and I am surrounded by well-wishers before I am even seen by anyone. Mary comes bounding out, hugging me and taking me into a backroom as if I were a rockstar being mobbed. The man who held my future in his hands comes in while more blood is being taken, hugs me, congratulates me, gives me a bit of information that makes it clear why I was so popular. The levels they look for were, in me, 10 times the normal range. There wasn't just one child. We discussed it a bit and I left to make a LOT of calls.
My last day there was in a dark room with a technician, Mary, another nurse and my husband. Crowded, but no one wanted to miss this. There's one heartbeat, a fluttering dot on the monitor. The technician hunts with her magic wand a bit longer. Two fluttering dots. Everyone cheers, cries, laughs. We say our goodbyes, and I can't say thank you enough.
Forty five weeks later, I paid a visit with their sweet new creations,and carrying a large bag full of boxes of Chips Ahoy cookies in my arm.