Trust the Stick

That can’t be it. It’s got to be faulty. One pink vibrant line stands out on the pee-stick. It’s been that way before. Familiar and decisive, it’s the test line. It’s says ‘yep the stick’s working.’ For the first time something is different. The second window has an almost imperceptible pale line too. It’s so feint that I’m wondering if it’s really there or if I’m imagining it. Perhaps it’s some weird trick of the eye?
I must have mucked the test up.
Is that possible?
Can you pee on a stick wrong?
Whatever. I throw it in the bin and continue on with my day. I’ve decided to not think about it.
I don’t think about it as I drive to work. Practicing my pelvic floor exercises at the traffic lights. Pregnant or not, I’ve read so much about the importance of having a strong pelvic floor that I clench, hold and release throughout the drive. I hope I’m doing it right.
I don’t think about it while eating my lunch. I’m trying not to stab myself in the face repeatedly with my fork while my colleges drone on and on about football. I must be the only Melbourne born person who hasn’t a clue about AFL. Each week I put my footy tips in by way of trying to socially connect with the people I work with. Every week my teammate football-obsessed-mad-keen-Richmond-supporter says,
‘You’ve made some very interesting selections this week,’ or ‘pretty brave picking Essendon.’
That’s me, brave, courageous, sitting at the bottom of the footy tipping chart.
I don’t think about it briskly walking the streets and listening to my favourite podcasts. What was he talking about? Passing through the dog park I stare enviously at the dog owners. Stupid renting, stupid ‘no pets allowed’ rules. I see the owners tentatively follow their playful hounds, baggy in hand, bending to scoop up freshly deposited piles of excrement. Maybe it’s nice not to have a dog.
I don’t think about it while chopping vegetables for our stir-fry dinner. Or while I’m washing the dishes, or watching television or reading in bed before the book slips and hits my dozing head. I don’t think about it all the next day either.
All this not thinking about it, makes me think, that the best thing I could do is to take the test again. I read the instructions on the box, again.
Remove cap.
Pee on end of stick.
Replace cap.
Lie test still for three minutes.
Simple. That’s what I did last time. My interpretation of the instructions has been the same each time. I leave the test on the edge of the bath and sit on the toilet seat and wait. I don’t peek. Peeking, checking early or watching the test is not on. Just like trying to catch Santa or the Easter Bunny or hunting through the house for your birthday gifts, it seems like a good idea but the knowing ruins the surprise.
My phone sounds. The allotted time has past. I swivel to face the stick. What? One dark pink line and one feint pink line.
That’s it!
Is that it?
A positive result? Be more positive in your answer. Be more assertive. I call out to my husband,
‘Hey can you come upstairs for a minute?’
‘What?’
‘What do you think about this?’ I indicate to the stick.
‘We’re having a baby!’ He picks me up, hugging me excitedly.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Pack says two lines. That’s two lines.’
‘Yeah but its so feint.’
‘That’s it. What were you expecting?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘We can do another test.’
‘Nah. It did the same thing two days ago.’
‘You knew two days ago?’
‘No. Well, I didn’t think it was right so I threw it out.’
At the doctors I’m answering questions about my last period. She’s trying to figure out how many weeks pregnant I am. She’s excited for me. She’s asking questions about my health. Taking blood pressure. Listening to my heart. Asking about my private health insurance. We are discussing multivitamins, healthy diets and lifestyles and foods to avoid. She’s writing me a referral so that I can go and see an obstetrician.
‘Am I definitely pregnant?’
‘What?’
‘Well I’d hate to go through all this only to find out there’s a mistake.’ I’m imagining my first ultrasound showing nothing but an empty womb.
‘You’ve been off the pill?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’ve been having unprotected sex?’
‘Yes.’ I can tell she’s winding me up here.
‘You’ve been monitoring your cycle and it’s been regular and now you’ve skipped a period?’
‘Yes.’
‘You did a pregnancy test and it was positive?’
‘Yes.’ She’s actually smiling at me now. ‘But the lines were so feint. What if I’m wrong?’
‘Here. Go and wee in this cup and we’ll do another test right now.’
She hands me a clear specimen jar and directs me to the toilets.
‘Ok you are definitely pregnant. Congratulations!’ She’s actually laughing at me now.
I’m shocked that her test is so primitive. It’s a strip of paper that she dropped some wee onto. That’s it. No sending anything off to the lab.
Apparently the stick, however unassertive, was accurate.
Baby on board.
