My heart was beating so fast I could hear it in my ears. It was the loudest sound in the bathroom. I closed my eyes to ground myself as I wish the pounding away, but not too far as I am reminded of the pain that comes from losing a heartbeat.
Standing up to pull up my pants and place the pregnancy test on the edge of the sink I look at my watch. Three minutes. That is how long I need to wait. Wait to see if the future holds joyful anticipation or despairing defeat. I am trembling with an odd feeling of hopefulness and sadness.
I quickly check the test to make sure the 1st “blue line” shows up to register that I have peed on the stick correctly and my result will be accurate. I have done this ritual a handful of times but I still reach for the directions every time. "Wait three minutes until reading results."
One minute has passed now.
A sense of nausea floods me and I lay on the cool bathroom floor to cool my nerves. I want to vomit. The mixed emotions of fear overwhelm me. I think that maybe if I let myself vomit all the psychological confusion will be exercised from my body like a demon leaving my soul.
I check the test – no blue line yet. My need to throw up dissipates and settles into a low grade anxious stomach ache. Anxiety over hoping I get another chance at motherhood and nervous that this month the dream might not come true.
Now I must muster up courage. Courage to get up off the floor and look at the little pregnancy test sitting on the corner of the sink. I lift the little stick to my eyes and feel I already know the results.
Is what the stick reads. No second blue line. My hope turns to frustration. And I toss the test into the garbage and wait another month to try again.