I was at Day 45 of my normal 28 Day cycle. I know this because every morning at work I would bring up a calendar on my computer and with my finger, would count each day with a silent “oh no, oh crap, oh crap,” every time another day was added to the count. It was a ritual that became more significant as each day ticked over. I would often flick back to the calendar during the course of my day to do a recount. No change to my tally.
My then-partner-now-husband and I had had a dramatic start to our relationship resulting in scar tissue for both of us. We were healing, planting roots in a rocky surface. We were tenacious and tenuous. It was a soulful time, which we look back on fearfully. Lordy, how tough were we to get through that, we think now. Bloody tough and determined. On the surface, we were great’ish but under the surface, we were complex. A baby wasn’t on the one year plan; we were still trying to keep a one year plan with both of us on it, afloat. A baby wasn’t even a tiny blip on the radar, no biological clocks were ticking, we were just working on us. Priority Number One.
Day 45, I decided a trip to the doctor was probably wise. “Don’t worry about coming with me, I call you after your meeting”, I told my partner. I ducked out to the doctor between meetings, with the plan to pick up a muffin on the way back to the office. The muffin never happened. I don’t think the meetings did either.
“Well you’re definitely pregnant”, the doctor smiled at me. “Is this a good thing?” she asked. Had her eyes fleetingly glanced at my ring-less fingers and the empty chair beside me?