It was April of 1987. It hadn’t taken long for me to discover that I had better lay my pregnant body on its side, while reclining on the exam table, waiting for my monthly check-up. This was my first pregnancy, so before last month, who knew? No one had told me.

No one said a word until I began breaking out in a cold sweat inside a hot ultrasound room, warm jelly on my belly, straining to make out the image on the black and white screen, while also seeing dark spots and pinpricks of light floating into my vision.

Then, the nausea came quickly. The nurse practically shouted, “On your side! On your side!”

This time, I was prepared. This time, I knew at least one motherhood secret: “Lay on your side.”

Other than that, all I knew was that I looked forward to hearing the heartbeat again.

I was not even 21 years old. And my wedding day had been less than 6 months before. The people who didn’t know me very well were giving me the side-eye. The people who did know me well, knew that this pregnancy could not have been conceived before November 8th, 1986.

What they didn’t know, was that it was conceived the morning of November 10th. It had taken me that long to be able to rest and relax. On November 8th, 1986, I had married a patient man.

A month after said wedding, with the Christmas season in full swing, I went to see a doctor. I was fully and firmly convinced that the stress leading up to my wedding had knocked my body for a loop. Confidently, I told the nurse all my symptoms, letting her know that I wasn’t worried, but that she should probably do a blood draw or something, and then adjust my birth control medication. Because it was working too well. I hadn’t had a period since late October.

She handed me a tiny cup, and told me to please pee into it. Impatient to head back to my bank job, I complied. I then sat upright on the exam table, waiting for her to come back with a needle. Looking at my watch, I became annoyed with the crinkly tissue paper under my pencil skirt.

The door opened, and in the nurse came. All she said was, “Honey, there’s nothing wrong with you. You are pregnant.”

I remember her looking strangely triumphant. After all, nurses know things.

So there I was. My first spring as a married woman, and I was with child. My stomach was slightly swollen, much like the buds on the East Tennessee dogwood trees. I looked at my watch, impatient to get to my bank job.

This nurse came in, sweetly asked all the usual questions, checked my bloodwork…

….and immediately called in the doctor. I wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

With some degree of alarm, the doctor let me know that it seemed my blood sugar was slightly elevated. He then took the special stethoscope out of the nurse’s hands to do his own listen to the heartbeat. I wondered how he could hear; it felt that my own anxious heart was pounding a little too hard.

The nurse suddenly snapped to attention. Without realizing it, she even placed her hand on the doctor’s arm, stopping his movement. Looking at him oddly, she said with big eyes, “Dr. Brown, did I hear another heartbeat?”

Condescendingly, he answered, “Not at all. I’m standing right here listening, and I don’t hear that - and besides, she’s had an ultrasound.”

It’s amazing the moments that get pressed indelibly into your memory, though at the time you do not understand why.

The nurse shrugged her shoulders, but still looked exceedingly uncomfortable. The doctor decided to send me home, but told the nurse to have me return a little sooner than a month away. Just as an extra precaution. He was completely sure that I was fine. My weight was great, but he wanted to monitor my blood sugar and find out if the protein in my urine was just an anomaly.

….to be continued…