“Do you see that line?!? I think there’s a second line. Oh. My. Lord. I think I’m gonna be sick. Do you see that line?!?”

Elated doesn’t begin to describe how I felt when I found out I was pregnant. My cat, Tinsel, whom I’d asked to verify the test results, couldn’t care less.

Mr. T and I had been trying to grow our family for a while, and the effort required more work than I’d anticipated. (There’s nothing like ovulation and fertility tests, morning temperature readings, and a turkey baster to take the sexy out of baby-making.) So when a test popped positive on Dec. 14, 2015, I cried. And it wasn’t a pretty cry. It was an ugly, snot-filled, gasping for breath cry.

I wanted my baby more than anything I’d ever wanted. I was completely in love and I’d just learned he or she existed.

I decided to keep the news to myself until Christmas. After all, what could be a better gift?

The universe had other plans.

I wanted my baby more than anything I’d ever wanted. I was completely in love and I’d just learned he or she existed.

The bleeding started the next night at work. It was heavy and horrifying. I sat on the toilet, stunned, and wondered why God would do this to me. Why give me exactly what I’d been hoping, wishing, and praying for, then take it from me 24 hours later?

The pity party lasted for about 5 minutes before I realized it might not be too late to do something. There was a hospital around the corner, and I needed to get there ASAP.

But that would mean telling my boss what was going on — and that would make him the first to learn about the baby. Besides the cat, of course.

This was not the plan.

“I have to leave.” I had his attention. “I’m pregnant, I’m bleeding, and I’m scared,” I said. I tried my best, but I couldn’t stop the tears.

“Go,” he told me, coming around the desk to give me a hug. He asked that I send him a text message so he’d know I was OK.

…

The wait in the ER was excruciating, but I was finally seen by a doctor after nearly an hour.

His bedside manner was less than impressive, but that didn’t matter. I just wanted to know whether my baby was still with me.

He explained that I had to have a transvaginal ultrasound because my hormone levels were too low to be helpful. After minimal preparation, he inserted the probe.

The test seemed to go on forever, and he either didn’t realize or didn’t care that he was hurting me. But it didn’t matter. All I wanted was news, preferably good. 

“There’s nothing there,” he said to the resident in the room. “There’s nothing there.”

In all my months of pregnancy prep, nothing had prepared me for that moment, for those words.

My heart sank.

Click here for part two of  “Peaks & Valleys: My Pregnancy Reveal.”