It was shaping up to be a rather uneventful day. October 4, 2012, started with promise; it was a Friday leading into Columbus Day weekend, and my husband, Dave, had a half day off. We planned to enjoy lunch and run some errands. However, I had a CT scan scheduled for the following Tuesday morning, and the imaging center had called me a couple of days earlier with their routine questions:
- “What is your weight?”
- “Are you allergic to latex or any contrast solutions?”
- “Do you have issues with IV placements?”
- “When was your last menstrual cycle?”
To that last question, I hesitated. I hadn’t had my period in months, but I was convinced I could not possibly be pregnant. My husband and I had spent three years trying, consulting fertility specialists, undergoing Clomid treatment, six rounds of IUI, three rounds of in vitro, and countless hormone injections, all without success. By early 2010, I had received a diagnosis of a rare cancer, which led to invasive surgeries and aggressive radiation and chemotherapy. Recently, my irregular cycles had prompted testing that indicated I was entering perimenopause. Not surprising for someone who was 41.
So, when the imaging center’s representative informed me that I needed a blood test at my OB’s office to confirm or rule out pregnancy, I was frustrated. I had hoped for a nice afternoon, not an unexpected trip for a pregnancy test. Given that my CT scan was scheduled for early Tuesday after the holiday, I had to ensure my blood work was expedited and sent to the imaging center by the end of the day. After the test, my husband and I continued with our plans, but I kept my phone close, constantly checking in with a nurse named Lisa, who was coordinating the blood test results for me. What a hassle, I thought.
Later that afternoon, I found myself wandering the aisles of Hobby Lobby, searching for yarn for a scarf I intended to crochet for my mother’s Christmas gift. Dave was off looking for model car supplies elsewhere in the store. When my phone rang, I felt a wave of relief; Lisa had promised to call with the test results.
“Hi, Lisa,” I said, struggling to balance an armful of yarn while holding the phone.
“Hellooooo, Jenna,” Lisa replied with a lighthearted tone. I chuckled, relieved we were nearing the end of this ordeal.
“Thanks for keeping me updated,” I said. “I really appreciate your help.”
“Of course,” she replied, her voice cheerful. “Are you sitting down?”
At those words, I instinctively knew something was off. My heart raced, and I felt a wave of dizziness wash over me.
“No, Lisa,” I replied. “I’m standing in Hobby Lobby, juggling yarn.”
“Well, we got your results, and you’re over five weeks pregnant!”
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. “This must be a mistake. Are you certain?” I asked incredulously.
“We’re sure!” she laughed.
In disbelief, I peppered Lisa with questions about how this could have happened. She patiently answered me until finally saying, “Congratulations! Go tell your husband!”
“Alright…” I said, still reeling from the news, my arms full of yarn. I began to search for Dave, who was still deep in thought about his model supplies. If you’ve never been to a Hobby Lobby, it can be downright confusing, especially when you’re in shock. Thankfully, Lisa stayed on the line as I navigated through the maze of aisles.
“DAVE!” I yelled once I spotted him, startling him in the process. He later told me that my tone made him think something was wrong.
I placed my hand on his chest for stability and connection before delivering the news. He blinked in surprise, and tears filled his eyes as he embraced me.
The rest of the day unfolded in a blur. I did manage to purchase the yarn—my only purchase at Hobby Lobby ever again. Lisa arranged for us to have an ultrasound at a hospital in Providence. Before long, we were gazing at our baby, just a tiny speck, but I was officially nearly six weeks pregnant, which meant we could hear the heartbeat for the first time that day.
If someone had told me that morning how my day would conclude, I would have laughed at the absurdity of it. Yet, there I stood, enveloped in the sound of life within me, a body that had faced cancer two years prior. It was surreal, and it still astonishes me.
“We’re having a baby,” Dave and I repeated to each other, moving through that day and many more in a haze of shock, confusion, and overwhelming joy. “WE’RE having a BABY.”