My mind has been racing since it was confirmed yesterday that I am, in fact, pregnant with identical twins. Of course, I showed my therapist a picture of the sonogram this morning during our session and told her. I told her I’ve been having anxiety before each appointment, wondering if my HCG levels would drop or if they’d find something abnormal on the ultrasound.

“Yvonne, today, you are pregnant with twins,” my therapist said. “You are pregnant with twins. Be in the present. We have no idea and no control what will happen tomorrow, so focus on this moment right here and right now.”

I’ve been practicing my breathing exercises and continuing with my meditation to center myself more. But aside from that, I’ve also thought a lot recently about Ed and how he would react to know that his sister was pregnant with identical twins. He would be so excited at the idea of twins. I always knew that once I were to have kids, he’d likely spoil them rotten, give them candy behind my back, and give them all the latest toys on the market. That’s just how generous and loving he was. He had no clue how to be otherwise. He’d also likely never help with diapers or anything dirty, but, well, at least he’d be consistent. No, none of this is being present, but it’s grieving the past and what should be here now that is not.

“It’s really fucking unfair that he cannot be here,” I told my therapist, tearing up. “He should be able to be here to experience this joy with me.”

I told her that when I first made the appointment for the consultation at this clinic, I originally requested the appointment with another doctor that my OB-GYN recommended to me. Because her schedule was backed up for another month, the clinical assistant scheduling me suggested that I meet with the second doctor (there were only two doctors here given this is a boutique clinic), who had availability that was sooner. Given I just wanted a consult, I agreed. And when I saw his first name was Edward, I thought… well, maybe it’s a sign. He has the same name as my brother, so maybe he will be successful at helping us get pregnant.

The second sign was when the night before my egg retrieval, I dreamt that Ed took me to my egg retrieval procedure. It felt like he was watching over me, hoping for the best for us.

I shared this with my therapist, and she said it’s all likely true: I’ve found a way to incorporate him into my life even though he’s not physically here, and he is watching over us, trying to do what he can to help us.

The world is a really unfair, unequal place. There are so many people who have died for reasons that should never have happened. So many people face injustices completely out of their control or line of sight. So many couples and women face sub- and infertility for years and years longer than we ever did and have yet to see a positive pregnancy test. I am still waking up each morning, thankful that we have gotten even this far and hoping for the best for our two miracle survivor embryos to continue growing and becoming eventual little humans on this earth.

Today, I came in for my fourth post-transfer appointment at the clinic. This time, Chris came with me because the nurse let me know that at this stage, it’s possible that we could see a heartbeat.

After having the usual bloodwork to check my HCG and progesterone levels, I was called into the exam room. Mina, my sonographer, came in and greeted us. She started the exam, and before I could even see anything on the screen, she gasped, “Ohmigod!”

Well, when you’re at a doctor’s appointment to monitor your pregnancy progression, “ohmigod!” coming out of your sonographer’s mouth can either be a really good thing… or a really, really bad thing.

“Mina!” I exclaimed. “Is that a good ‘ohmigod’ or a bad ‘ohmigod’?!”

She broke out into a huge smile. “Yvonne, you’re having twins! CONGRATULATIONS!”

Chris went completely silent. All I could say was, “OHMIGOD!” My mind went a little numb; we’re having twins???? OUR LITTLE EMBRYO THAT COULD…. SPLIT! It was a complete marvel to see so clearly on the screen. Mina didn’t even need to zoom in on the uterus for us to see it: two distinct gestational sacs with two distinct yolk sacs, each with their own fetal pole, which is where you can see the first little flickers of a heartbeat. And both little fetal poles were flickering; it was loud and clear.

I was in total awe. I just couldn’t believe it. Back in January, I was devastated at the end of our IVF cycle when the embryology lab informed us that we only had one embryo survive to the blastocyst stage to go on for PGT-A genetic screening; I wasn’t even sure if the evaluation would come back normal. And when the test did come back normal, I wondered if this little blastocyst would survive and result in our first and only baby. Was this our only shot? Was this a sign? I thought then.

Mina told us that the development of both looked really good and both heartbeats were very clear, and she’d see us back here in a week.

Walking back together, I was still in disbelief. I could not believe we could see two little heartbeats. Last week, we could see a semblance of two gestational sacs, with only one having a tiny developing yolk sac; the second one didn’t even have a yolk sac yet, which is why the sonographer wasn’t sure if it was even a gestational sac or not. Somehow, that second gestational sac has managed to catch up to the first one in just seven days, and both were so clear. At every stage of this process, I just cannot get over the wonders of the female human body. How does this even happen? A single embryo splitting is still a total mystery in the medical and reproductive communities. We still don’t understand fully how or why this happens.

“Well, at least the ROI on this is good,” Chris said, still in complete shock that this happened. “We get two for the price of one!!”

For the HCG level stats we’re tracking to ensure the pregnancy is going well:

9 Days Post Transfer: 45.91

11 Days Post Transfer: 127

16 Days Post Transfer: 1,695

23 Days Post Transfer: 16,059

The nurse called early in the afternoon to let me know that since the HCG levels have consistently looked good, this would be my last blood test, and moving forward until I “graduate” from the clinic, I would come in weekly just for the ultrasound for monitoring and no more bloodwork. This was also a relief to hear… especially since both of my arms are looking quite bruised from all the endless blood draws I’ve been required to get. She also congratulated me on twins: “They’re going to be identical because they split from one embryo! After you left, Mina came into the office and showed everyone your ultrasound picture, and it was endless squeals! We don’t see too many single embryos split!”

At home this evening, I kept staring at the picture of the embryos that Mina printed for us: TWIN A, TWIN B, both labeled on the sonogram. Are these going to be my miracle babies? Am I going to be able to get them to survive through the next 34 weeks? I need all the good wishes and prayers and hopes in the world now. I need to have my little babies survive. This feels like a sign to me that this was meant to happen, and I have to do everything in my power to do right by them.

Tonight is our last night with my friend staying with us, as she’s officially moving into her new place tomorrow. Today marks exactly four weeks since she started staying with us in an effort to separate from her partner, and while it’s definitely been a bit more crowded and dusty with three adults in this 1-bedroom apartment, it’s been really enjoyable. I have loved having her here with us, not only for extra company and socializing, but also for emotional support for me going through this crazy emotional embryo transfer process. Chris remarked that she arrived as a wreck and a shell of herself, but she’s left rejuvenated and fresh. She’s been adaptable in our routines, from watching food on TV while eating food, our “morning dinners” and “evening dinners” as Chris calls them, our random assortment of food on a plate ranging from Indian to Chinese to Thai and Yemeni and pesto pasta, and even our endless marital banter. It’s been comforting to have her hugs and embraces when I’ve felt anxious and uncertain. And I’ve also enjoyed being there for her to ensure she feels supported through this current life transition she’s going through. We’ve been friends now for over 24 years, and though I’ve always known she’s an amazing, warm, loving, affectionate person, I’ve never felt it as much or as immediately as I have than over the last four weeks.

In preparation for her departure, not only did she stock our fridge and pantry with all kinds of fresh food, produce, and snacks, but she even added pregnancy-symptom aiding items like ginger shots, fresh ginger, tamarind, and zinc. Sometimes, I’m in awe of how thoughtful she is. It really goes beyond me.

Well, she’s leaving the nest tomorrow. I will miss seeing her and getting her daily hugs, but it’s time for her to do her own thing. And it’s also time for me to survive without her here every day. I think I can handle it. One deep breath at a time.