The Hard Part

So, pregnant... The two-week shock window definitely set in rather quickly. I did the requisite calling of the OB/GYN's office to get my first appointment set up. The freakishly perky receptionist congratulated me numerous times and scheduled me for my first appointment on June 3rd. Bryon and I talked and agreed that we wanted to wait a few weeks, at the very least, before making our news very public, but he also recognized that I needed to be able to tell some of my friends to have people to talk to and freak out about this with, which was great. Except for one thing...

My dear, dear, sweet friend Elizabeth. Elizabeth and I share practically everything with each other. But this? I did not know how or when to share it with her. Elizabeth and her husband Robert had been trying to have a baby for quite some time and had experienced their fair share of struggles and then some. It all felt so wrong. Elizabeth had been very actively trying to get pregnant. Me? Not so much. I had long desired (and vocalized to Elizabeth) that I wanted her to get pregnant first - not only so she could be my guinea pig, but also because I knew how very much she wanted the be in that place in her life already. And here I was, already there, without even really trying. To further complicate matters, Elizabeth had recently started seeing a Reproductive Endocrinologist (RE), undergone a surgical procedure, and was waiting for her post-op appointment with the RE to answer the looming question of "What next?"

What a conundrum! I wanted to tell her, but I didn't want to hurt her. And I knew it was better to tell her sooner rather than later (because waiting to tell her would also hurt her), but I just didn't know how or when. I agonized over the situation for two days from the time I found out I was pregnant. On Wednesday afternoon, I talked to our mutual friend Shannon about it and she told me to just rip the band aid off and tell Elizabeth.

Not long after I got off the phone with Shannon, Elizabeth called me to fill me in with the report from her post-op appointment with the RE. Whereas Elizabeth was decidedly cautious, and quite honestly, probably a little pessimistic in her view of what the doctor had told them, I was really and truly filled with great hope and optimism about the plan the doctor had laid out and their chances for success, and told her as much. I also totally wussed out and allowed her to end the conversation before telling her my news. Under the circumstances, I just didn't know how to make that transition.

After our phone call ended, though, I didn't feel any more at ease than I had before, so I decided that Shannon was right, and I just needed to do it. I called Elizabeth back, and feeling like a bumbling fool, said something about ripping off band aids, and understanding that she might be upset, but hoping that she'd eventually be able to be happy for me, and finally spit out the words, "I'm pregnant." She tried to cover it as best she could, but I know she started crying. She did congratulate me, and we talked a little more, but it was an odd, rather awkward conversation - mainly because neither one of us knew exactly what to do under the circumstances.

First thing the next morning, I wrote her a lengthy email, wanting to let her know how concerned I was over the pain I may have caused her with my news, as well as how really and truly hopeful the report from her doctor's appointment left me feeling as far as her situation was concerned. We exchanged several long emails that morning that left us both feeling much better about things, and in which I predicted that they would successfully conceive on their first try with IUI. (For the record? I was totally right!)

Whew! Band aid? Ripped off. Hard part? Survived. Friendship? Intact, if not even stronger

You can read Elizabeth's take on it here.