Time To Let It All Hang Out

Part II: I'm Pregnant. Both My Pee and My Blood Say So

The same day that I took my second pee-stick test, I made a covert call to my doctor from work to schedule a blood test. My understanding was that, while pee-stick tests are pretty accurate, a blood test is always needed to confirm a positive result. And I should mention here that it's always great fun making personal, private calls from my office building, which offers NO PRIVACY ANYWHERE. I always have to either whisper as articulately as possible into the phone that's in my cubicle, or take my cell phone out of the office suite into the corridor, which feels a little more private but sees plenty of foot traffic thanks to the restrooms and elevators located there. You never know when someone's going to step off the elevator and overhear you on your cell scheduling a Pap smear or describing the color of your cat's diarrhea to the vet.

Aaaaaanyway, I found a relatively quiet, solitary corner and made the call. When the receptionist asked for the type of appointment I needed, I whispered, "I think I might be pregnant" into the phone, to which she of course replied, "What?"

"I think I might be pregnant!"

"OK. So you want a blood test?"

"Yes."

"OK. Hm. We could fit you in in two weeks."

That killed me. I mean, two weeks? A whole fortnight? Who on earth has that kind of patience?

"Are you sure you don’t have anything sooner? I mean, like, this week, even?"

"Oh. Well, we could squeeze you in this Friday."

Even that sounded like an eternity, as I was calling on a Wednesday, but it sure as hell beat two weeks, so I took it.

Two days later, sitting across from Dr. A in her office, I learned that pee-stick tests are, in fact, extremely accurate. False positives are very, very rare, she told me. If I took two tests and both told me I was pregnant, then I was. She agreed to do the blood test as a formality, but in Dr. A's mind, I was pregnant beyond a doubt, and that was final.

"But what about all the alcohol I drank before I knew I was pregnant?" I asked.

"Don't worry about it."

"But also the ibuprofen and the Claritin-D."

"Don't worry about it."

"But..."

"M, did you smoke any crack recently?"
(First time a doctor's ever asked me that.)

"No."

"OK then. Stop worrying."

Well, OK. But that's easier said than done. More on THAT later.

On the drive back to work from Dr. A's, I first called S. He was excited, but he didn't want to do any celebrating of any kind until the blood-test result was in. That wasn't supposed to be until Monday, so we were in for a long, suspenseful weekend. After I called S, I caved and called my parents. I'd told myself I wouldn't do that until I knew absolutely, positively for sure, but the temptation was just too strong. I called and told them what the doctor had told me: the pee stick doesn't lie. They were, predictably, happy and supportive. It reduced my anxiety a tad. I was still feeling more terrified than anything else. They agreed not to share the news with any other family till that damn blood test was in.

Mercifully, Dr. A received the blood-test results from the lab the following day, a Saturday, and called us that day to let us know. "Break out the champagne!" she trilled into my voice mailbox, "Or in your case, M, the sparkling cider! You're pregnant!"

At which point, the REAL panic set in.