I always locked myself in the bathroom to take pregnancy tests. It felt like a solitary act. My hands would tremble as I held that portentous piece of plastic in my hand, waiting for the result.
First, there’s the adrenalin rush – could I really be pregnant this time? I obsessed for days by symptom-checking on Google. Is that slight feeling of nausea a good sign? Does the cramp in my left side signal that the embryo has been implanted? Are my instincts right – after a two-week wait and two years of trying via IVF, am I about to find out that I’m pregnant? Or will I collapse on the floor once again in a miserable heap?
