*Back to the original story, still not at the present....it'll take quite a bit more till we get there...*
I had so many transvaginal ultrasounds during my infertility years that I wouldn't have been surprised if someone had suggested permanently installing one inside to save everyone the trouble of having them ready for me. And here I was in the waiting room of a place that specialized in transvaginal ultrasounds. It would be my first since the last cancelled IVF three years ago. I was really, really, really nervous. I was unwashed and greasy and huddled up. Random sat next to me and held my hand. It was early in the morning.
"What does this remind you of?" he asked.
"Duh," I said, knowing automatically--we have what is known in our house as "SameBrain," where we both basically think the same thing at the same time.
It reminded me of early-morning waiting rooms at the IVF clinic. Except here everyone was older and there were as many men as women. But people still had that drawn, anxious look, probably because this was a place that specialized in all things Scan and some of these people were in for serious stuff. Anyway, it didn't bring back pleasant memories, although Random and I did crack ourselves up quite frequently during those harried mornings.
At the counter they asked me to fill out a form. The form asked for
# OF CHILDREN
so I wrote "one."
The woman at the counter then said "oh, so this is your second pregnancy?" And I said "nope, first pregnancy, second kid" and she looked at me like I had two heads. So I explained and she wrote "adopted" next to my "one" and I smiled thinly.
Finally our name was called and we were led back by a young woman who seemed really sweet. Good, I thought--it would make the bad news easier to take (if there was bad news! If there was bad news! I had to keep reminding myself to quit being such a pessimistic ween). We went into the exam room and I took off my bottoms, flinging them onto a chair. Random perched uneasily. The tech came back in and I hoisted myself up on the table. She turned off the lights, swiveled her chair around, and brandished The Wand.
I held my breath.
I felt my blood stop as the tech began.
Within a second of The Wand the tech showed me a small blurb on the screen. She pointed at a pulsing speck, smaller than a grain of rice, and explained that what we were seeing was a heartbeat. She turned a dial and a sound filled the room--a whoosh whoosh whoosh registering on the screen as a series of peaks and valleys. "That's it," she said, capturing the beats per minute on screen. "It looks good," she said.
My neck craned forward. I was crying, a little. I looked at Random, who was holding my foot and staring at the screen.
"Crazy, huh?" he said.
I was six weeks five days pregnant when I first heard Rocky's heartbeat.
(You might be wondering why Rocky. We needed a name that symbolized something kick-ass, something that perservered despite the odds. Just picturing the sperm charging to the tune of Rocky training--and then picturing said sperm slamming into the egg at the speed of Rocky's left hook--and just pummeling away until the egg, defeated, let him in--made us both feel warm and fuzzy inside. And seemed fitting, somehow.)
Next up: I Get Sick! And Sicker! And Copious Amounts of Nuts Are Involved!