Several years ago Dadisodes and I had an incident.  It was before Babisodes came into the picture.

Living in absolute sin, Dadisodes and I shared an apartment in southern California.  I had just decided to stay in San Diego for him, rather than continue with travel nursing.  And after a yearlong courtship, still unwed and not engaged, my period was late.

<pause>

It would be important to mention here that at the time, I was still working in very acute neonatal intensive care units.  Although I was dating someone seriously, I was still unsure as to whether or not children were going to be in my future.  Especially since a normal infant in my eyes at the time was approximately 3-4 pounds and attached to life support.  Not to mention the constant smell of burning flesh in the O.R. during cesarean sections was not doing much to sway me towards motherhood.

Just like any woman not trying to conceive and taking precautionary measures, I panicked. A lot. And then proceeded to empty the shelves of the pregnancy test aisle at CVS.  Generic, early detection, fancy-overpriced name brand.  You name it and I scooped it into my arms, dumped them into my car, and raced home at alarming speeds.

It is truly amazing how difficult it is to pee during times of crisis.  And how slow three minutes can take to go by, pacing in front of a test.

Finally, there was only ONE pink line in the control section.

I breathed a heavy sigh of relief and then lowered the test back down towards the trashcan.

Wait. What’s that?

An ever so faint pink line shadowed alongside the dark pink one.

After several hours, it went unchanged.  I called my gynecologist to schedule an appointment for a blood test to make sure.

Upon arrival, the nurse immediately gave me a similar urine pregnancy test to take.  As she administered the drops of my urine onto the test strip, she immediately noticed two developing pink lines.

“Well,…*holds up round pregnancy calendar*…it looks like you’ll be having a May baby!”

My knees gave in and I nearly passed out.  Luckily a chair sat behind me to catch my fall.

“Are you okay, Sandy?”

“Yeah,…um…can you check the test again to make sure.  I got a faint pink line on my home test.”

“Let me see.  Well…hmm…. you know,… you’re right. It is barely pink.  We should really make sure.”

It turns out I was not actually pregnant. It was just a false alarm.

Trying to conceive over the last year or so, I still revisit that moment every month while taking a pregnancy test. Month after month, the negative test results have taken their toll.  It has evolved into a state of panic in a thick, heavy cloud of uncertainty, stifling as my time frame for trying to conceive comes to a close, our options become fewer, and biopsies come back unchanged.  Not even a glimmer of a pink line has presented itself.

Until yesterday…

With heavy signs of PMS (read: tender breasts, sugar cravings, water retention, mood swings), my past experience, and a years worth of failure, I am torn on how to interpret the test.

I fear latching onto this weak line of hope.  Because this time, so much more lies behind it.  I fear I am not strong enough to handle being letdown again.

Could this test be testing me?

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