10 months ago I posted this blog post: A Confession: I have PCOS and I had never felt more supported, and still vulnerable, in my life.
This is the rest of the story:
I am eagerly awaiting the fourth ultrasound I will have had in my lifetime, the one in which I will learn the gender of my first born. The first ultrasound was not filled with quite the same anticipation. It was done well over two years ago because I was sensing some abnormal pain that I had not previously experienced. The doctor decided to “take a look” and found the culprits–100s of circles, cysts, all over both of my ovaries.
This news launched me on a quest to initially just “feel better”. I was 24 at the time and was not trying to conceive, but my sister-in-law especially probed me to stay on it. She kept repeating to me, “You’re young. You’re lucky. Figure it out now, so you don’t have to worry later.” Her gentle nudges, and sometimes shoves, coupled with the support of everyone around me, and my unwavering dedication to the guidelines of this book: The Natural Diet Solution for PCOS and Infertility by Nancy Dunne and Bill Slater led me to my next ultrasound.
I had changed everything about the way I ate for several months when I requested a follow up appointment with my OB. I was feeling better, shedding pounds, and doing something for myself that I had never successfully been able to do before. I wanted to know where I stood. This time, the ultrasound was scheduled with a technician at a separate facility. I was not allowed to look at the screen, and it felt as if those 10 minutes were the same length as the 10 minutes before the bell rings for summer break. When she was done, she escorted me out and told me that my doctor would be contacting me with the results in a few days.
I never got the call. At least, I thought I never got the call. I checked my online portal about a week later and realized my results had been posted for days. I tried to read the results myself, and from what I could tell, it seemed the results came back normal. Nothing was found on the ultrasound. I called my doctor, spoke with the nurse, and she read the results with me.
“Yes, miss, that’s correct. The ultrasound shows no signs of cysts.” I started crying on the phone.
“None? You mean, there isn’t even one?”
“None.”
I wanted to believe her, but it seemed too implausible. I saw all of those cysts on the first ultrasound. They were everywhere. And it’s normal to have just a few cysts. But to have none- it seemed like someone was playing a cruel joke on me. After all, the ultrasound technician wouldn’t let me see the screen during this test, so maybe they had mixed up my results? I was guarded about the results and continued with the new lifestyle I had begun as if nothing had changed.
Fast forward to mid October 2016, when I took a dollar store pregnancy test on a Wednesday morning at 5:15 am.
“Are those two lines, Scott?” I asked ruffling him out of bed. “Put on your glasses. Do you see TWO lines? Because that second one looks really faint to me.”
It was faint. But it was there. And I spent the subsequent weeks taking pregnancy test after pregnancy test trying to convince myself it was true. We had only been trying for 5 months. And that didn’t seem right. “I have PCOS,” I kept saying to friends and family who had been in on this journey with us. “So I’ll give it a year, and then if I have to take other steps, I will worry about it then.” I continued, “I’m still young, so I am not too worried about it. Scott and I still have a lot of traveling we want to do.”
I had an appointment with my OB at the end of September and told him that my husband and I had finally decided to try to start our family. He told me from the looks of everything, he would be expecting a call soon to schedule my first prenatal appointment. I laughed my way out of his office thinking he was sweet, just doing his job to make me feel better.
I was able to make that call just 4 weeks later.
My third ultrasound took place when I was 11 weeks pregnant. This time, Scott was in the room with me. We watched the screen the entire time- our little baby was thrashing in my stomach. Tears dripped down my cheeks, and I couldn’t believe the picture on the screen. It was a baby. My baby, taking shape.
I can only end this by saying how incredibly blessed I feel to have been on this journey. I pray everyday for a safe pregnancy, but I also pray everyday, without fail, for all of you who are awaiting the same miracle, whether for yourself or for someone you love. I know too many people- too many people who would make the most wonderful parents– who aren’t getting the same news just yet. I know that my words are not ever going to be enough, and my prayers may feel insignificant when it’s not happening, or it’s not happening the way it was always imagined. But I love you. I love you through the mess of infertility. So many people loved me through my own mess and without them, I know I would not be here, dreaming up a boy nursery vs. a girl nursery, but probably going mostly gender neutral anyways.
Newfangled 