2 years ago

Last time in Jules’ Adventures in Impossibility, I illustrated in painful detail what a crappy guesser I am for oh, the FIVE-THOUSANDTH TIME. Just guess whether I’m done or not. Go on, GUESS:

Back in February, our IVF pregnancy test came back with a HCG level of 0. The minimum considered for a ‘positive’ result is 12. I never bothered to ask what the average was. All I wanted to know was the bare minimum needed to make the cut – like I was trying to pass Algebra again. For the third time.

So, when they called with July’s result of a whopping 763, my brain looked at wimpy #12, then over to #763, saw the giant gap between and went: Awesome! Gold star for me!

Which just goes to show why I had to retake so many math classes.

That giant gap never occurred to me as anything more than a ginormous ass-kicking of all expectations. It never made me stop and think: hmmm, 763. As in, SEVEN. HUNDRED. SIXTY. THREE. As in, SEVEN TIMES A HUNDRED SIXTY THREE DIVIDED BY…NO, THAT’S NOT RIGHT, but DUDE, this is like the pasty-faced, doodle-drawing, raisin-sized math-wrinkle in your brain that hasn’t seen air in 15 years JUST ACED ALGEBRA. MAYHAP I SHOULD PONDER THE CAUSE?

Two days later, my level was 1128. Two days after that, it was 2463. And each time our coordinator called to report the numbers, she sounded more than a little impressed.

Jules: “Sooo…I take it these numbers are higher than expected?”

Coordinator: “Oh yes. Numbers like this usually mean both blastocycts took. But we won’t know for sure until your ultrasound.”

Jules: “Huh.”

The next two weeks were a blur of happy disbelief and a new sense of hunger I can only describe as Insane Angry Hungry. Hungry had become very Angry, very, very Insane, and very, very scary – because I couldn’t ignore it. EVER.

Sitting at a project for more than two hours straight (like I always did), thinking I’d eat something later (like I always did), no longer worked. Instead, I found that whenever I told my body, Hey body? I’m in the middle of some important stuff right now, SO SIMMER DOWN, The Belly of Rage would rise up, smack me in the face and threaten to claw out of my throat as a full-sized evil twin.

So for fourteen days, I read pregnancy books, ate my way through every edible item in the pantry and got very little design work done while Trav and I debated just how many embryos we’d see at our 6 week ultrasound.

Travis: “One.”

Jules: “Nope. Numbers don’t lie. We’re having two.”

Travis: “NO, it’s just ONE.”

Jules: “Why? Are you scared of twins?”

Travis: “No. It’s just that two is too much to hope for.”

Jules: “Whatever. I am so winning this. It’s two. Hand me the cereal, please. And an apple. And some cheese. And…”

Travis: “Didn’t you eat today?”

Jules: “Oh yeah. I ate last night’s Shish-k-bobs for lunch.”

Travis: “ALL of them? That was like, eleven k-bobs!”

Jules: “They were goooood.”


August 3rd, Swedish Hospital, elevator.

Level 2…level 3…level 4…

Travis: “We’re having one.”

Jules: “No, two”

Level 5…level 6…level 7…

Travis: “ONE”

Jules: “TWO”

Level 8…level 9…

Travis: “It’s ONE”

Jules: “You’re going DOWN, mister.”

level 10…DING!

Travis: “I guess we’ll see.”

Jules: “Yeah, I guess we will.”

We smiled and clasped hands as we walked out of the elevator and opened the frosted glass door to our clinic.

Ten minutes later, Trav and I were back in yet another dark room with a screen, waiting.

Tech: “And how are you guys this morning? This’ll be cold, sorry.”

Squeezing a stream of clear goo on my belly, the tech started smearing it around with the ultrasound wand.

Jules: “GAH.”

Travis: “We’re good. Excited.”

Tech: “Good, good. Ok, let’s get a look in here.”

Leaning closer, Trav held my hand as I looked at him instead of the screen, trying not to over-interpret black & white sound wave images that have, at best, always looked like the dark side of the moon to me.

Tech: “There’s one…”

Trav grinned.

Tech: “There’s two…”

Jules: “HAH!!! I WIN!”

I struck my finger out at him in victory. And then the Tech said this:

Tech: “….Huh.”

I froze.

Travis: “Um…‘Huh’?”

Tech: “Well…it looks like…there’s THREE.”


Yeah. Apparently, one of those little suckers SPLIT. IN. TWO. As did my brain.

Coming up in Part III: Triple Threat


Originally posted on Maasive Miracle, Dec. 24, 2010

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