October 2016

San Francisco & Pacifica, CA

About seven months after Dave dies, I meet up with a friend to see a matinee of a play about Mad King Philip in downtown San Francisco. She’s recently broken up with her partner, who she has a toddler with, so I’m already looking to her as a model for how to be a single mom. We walk back to our cars together after a tropical themed happy hour at Liliho Yacht Club, picking our way around homeless people and past fancy hotels. 

“I’m really nervous. I’m two weeks late.” I say.

“Late for what?” She asks.

“My period. I should have had it two weeks ago.” We stop at a light and look at each other. "I’ve taken countless pregnancy tests and they’re all negative. But I’m never late. And we aren’t always careful. Usually we are but….not always.”

She grimaces sympathetically. The light turns green and we cross the street. “Well, a test might not work yet. It takes a few weeks past your missed period to show as positive. It should say on the box.”

“Ugh. I didn’t know that. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that cocktail!” I laugh nervously. “I haven’t actually taken one in a few days. It’s so unlikely though. I mean we are almost always careful. I’m going to a fertility doctor at UCSF on Monday actually, see about maybe starting IUI with Dave’s sperm.”

“And Bill is ok with that?” Naseem asks.

I shrug. “He says he is. He says he wants to do it with me. But who knows."

We hug goodbye as we get to her car. “Well, keep me posted.” She says.

“Ok, love you. Bye.”

#

I wake up around 8am the next day, a Thursday, and immediately take a pregnancy test. I’ve taken one every day for the last two weeks, all negative. I’m high on adrenaline and a few hits off a bowl as I make myself chamomile ginger tea and a smoothie with wild blueberries and vanilla protein powder, then head back to the bathroom to check the test. 

Two blue lines. 

I walk around in circles and freak out for a few minutes. Hannah trails after me, confused by this unusual early morning burst of activity. I take another test, waiting in the bathroom while it develops. Two more blue lines.

I call my sister Tara. We usually text but she actually answers at noon east coast time, the middle of her workday. “What’s up?” She asks.

“I mean. I can’t believe this is happening. It’s not what I had planned.”

“What? What happened?”

I take a deep breath. And another. “I just took a pregnancy test. It was positive. I didn’t think this was possible. I mean we aren’t always 100% careful. But the chances were so low.”

“Wait, what? You’re pregnant?”

“I…I guess so? I mean I need to go to the doctor probably and get it confirmed.”

“Whoa. Give me a minute!” Tara says. We’re both quiet as I walk outside into the backyard, setting my tea and smoothie on the granite coffee table, Hannah following me out to sniff around and find a spot to pee.

“It’s Bill’s then I assume?” She asks.

“Yes.” I sit down heavily on the low white couch. It’s a beautiful cloudless day, sixty degrees and getting warmer. I raise my face to the sun.

I sip my tea. “I haven’t told him yet. I wonder if I can get the lab work done today. I’ll try. I’ll tell him after it’s confirmed.” I gulp my smoothie. My next call is to the doctor to ask her to order the lab test.

The blood draw is quick and easy, but the results won’t come back for days. I stop for lunch afterwards at a Japanese restaurant near the hospital. I order a bento box with a California roll and pork tonkatsu rather than the sashimi and nigiri I really want. No raw fish, booze, marijuana, or prescription drugs until I see an OBGYN and find out what’s really allowed and what’s not. I call Tara on my way home and give her an update. 

When I get home, I sit on the couch in my living room and watch an old episode of Game of Thrones on the huge TV Dave bought when we moved in two years ago. I’m rewatching it in preparation for the new season. I know I’ve seen it before but I don’t remember much from the time of Dave’s death. There are big blank spots in my memory; not just TV shows we watched together, but days and conversations and quiet times. I think it’s my brain's attempt to protect me from the trauma, or maybe a lack of attention and space for anything other than Dave's (and my) survival. 

Two episodes later, I finally feel ready to call Bill. I’m nervous even though I think he’ll be excited. “Hi babe.” I say. “I ah. I have something to tell you.”

“Ok.” He says. “Is it bad?”

“No no. Not bad. I don’t think it’s bad anyway. I think you’ll be happy. You may want to sit down though.” I pause. “I’m pregnant. At least that’s what the two home tests I took this morning say. The lab results will take a few days.”

“What? Wow! That’s amazing. I’m so happy babe. I love you so much.”

“I know. I can’t believe it. I’m in shock a little bit.” I say.

“Do you think it happened when we were in Monte Rio? When you had your period?”

“Yeah. I think so. It’s the only time we didn’t use a condom.”

“Wow. I thought because you had your period…” He says.

“I know. I know, me too.”

“I’m so happy though. I mean, using Dave’s sperm would have been good too. Maybe for the next one!” He laughs. “I’ll leave here as soon as I can and come over. I love you so much.”

“I know. I love you too.” I hang up.

Bill arrives a couple of hours later, bearing a dozen roses (I don’t have the heart to tell him I hate red roses), falafel wraps from Truly Mediterranean on 16th (one of my favorites, he got that part right), and a bottle of Martinelli’s. We spend the evening on the couch, talking about whether we should find out the gender (yes), baby names, and when Bill is going to officially move in (soon, since he’s currently floating between his studio at the old American Steel workhouse in Oakland, his friend’s apartment in Redwood City, and my house). 

The next day, I cancel the appointment with the fertility specialist at UCSF that was scheduled for Monday to discuss getting pregnant with Dave’s sperm, and make an appointment with a nurse practitioner midwife at CPMC for the following week.