For 2 glorious weeks, I was pregnant. 

I was tired all the time. I gave up caffeine, alcohol, cured meats and soft cheeses. I stopped working out (Doctor’s orders). My husband even laughed when I told him I was nauseous (he said it made it feel real). And despite all that, I was happy. 

For 2 years and 10 months, my husband and I tried to get pregnant. On the day we were finally set to start our first round of IUI, the nurse contacted me and told me we couldn’t. My HCG levels were high enough to indicate I may be pregnant. And with a little medical assistance (Endometrin), a few days later and a couple more blood tests, our Doctor’s office could confirm that I was six weeks along.

The first weekend was fun - keeping this beautiful secret that only my best friend and I knew. At a cousin’s wedding I drank vodka sodas without the vodka. At a bridal shower, I laughed to myself as I drank seltzer with a splash of iced tea that looked just like champagne. The next day, the bride asked if I was hung over. I went along with it for kicks. 

The second weekend was even better. We had planned a weekend away with my sister and her fiancé and I couldn’t wait to tell her. We knew it was unorthodox to tell people so soon, but also that my sister wouldn’t fall for any tricks (plus, she already knew we were trying). We had planned how we would tell her, but things did not exactly go accordingly. At our first outing to a creek near our house rental, my sister was attempting to swing from a make-shift rope swing into a fresh water death trap filled with boulders every few feet. As everyone else attempted to coax her from the top landing, I panicked and blurted out my big news. “Lauren – please don’t do this! I’m pregnant and my baby needs her Aunt!” Needless to say, it worked. Hugs were exchanged between family and congratulations yelled by all the strangers at the watering hole. 

The next day, the bleeding started. At first it was light and the doctor said it was probably from one of my medications. There was no need to rush home. As the weekend went on, the bleeding got heavier and, intuitively, I knew what it meant. I was already scheduled for an appointment with our fertility specialist the following Monday. I spent the rest of the weekend acting like I was pregnant but knowing that I was slowly losing my miracle. 

What was supposed to be my first sonogram of our miracle baby, turned in to the news I was expecting but still knocked the wind out of me. The pregnancy was not viable. And just like that, I was part of that secret club that no one talked about and no one wanted to be a member.  Our doctor would continue monitoring me to make sure they didn’t need to intervene in case the pregnancy was ectopic, but there was no hope this time. My husband stayed stoic, strong and supportive. I at least waited until we left the office to let out my sobs.