Where are my two lines?

I did it again.

I promised myself I wouldn’t take an ovulation test. But I couldn’t stop myself. I’m more in tune with my body now than I was six years ago.

And guess what? I got two lines. This is the only test I get two lines on.

But I can’t plant the seeds of hope yet, because I know I’ll eventually be heartbroken.

When my husband and I got married, I immediately stopped taking pills. When I was younger, I always wanted to be safe. I didn’t want to get pregnant. I wanted to graduate from college, get a job, and earn enough. Pregnancy wasn’t on my mind, but it was in my plan.

My dream age of getting pregnant and having kids was 22. But life got in the way. I was so busy with work. I was with a different person, and it wasn’t aligning with the life I wanted.

When I saw my husband again—we knew each other from college—I think we both knew that we were each other’s endgame. After our first date, we knew we were meant for each other. Six months later, we got engaged. Not long after, we got married.

Since day one of marriage, we’ve been trying. But now, six years in, we’re still trying, and my hope is slowly diminishing.

In 2019, I was diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS). I started gaining weight, my hair didn’t seem as healthy as it used to be, my skin felt dry, and my emotions were all over the place. So I took the medications they prescribed: pills (again), glutathione, vitamin D, vitamin E, folic acid. I did everything my OB told me.

In 2024, what a miracle, my PCOS healed. One of my ovaries was producing mature eggs again. I was at my happiest. Hope sparked once again. But just a week after that amazing news, I felt a lump in my throat. My mind screamed at me. It said: “You have cancer.” What a powerful force intuition is. Because as it turned out, it was.

When the doctor told me I had stage three thyroid cancer, I thought, Okay, this is it. No babies. Because the thyroid plays such a huge role in our hormones, especially in fertility.

When I had my surgery, I told God, “It’s okay. I know, you don’t give battles to just anyone. I know you give them to your strongest warriors. But please, pretty please, give me a win after this.”

I had two surgeries, one for my right thyroid, then another for the left. I was in the hospital for seven days each time. I underwent radioactive iodine therapy. That was an experience I never want to repeat. I was isolated in the hospital for three days. My throat felt like it was burning. My mouth was dry. My sense of taste? Gone in an instant. I know it’s different for everybody, but this was an experience I wouldn’t wish on my family and friends.

I’m on thyroid medication for the rest of my life. And that’s okay. I can take it. I believe God has a purpose. But every day I wonder … where are my two lines? I see my friends getting pregnant, having kids, celebrating first words, first smiles, first sneezes, first steps. And here I am wondering, is my time ever going to come?

A few months ago, I started feeling nauseous. My breasts were tender. My head always hurt. I thought I was pregnant. I was almost positive. Just imagine, six years of waiting.

We rushed to the mall to buy a pregnancy test. I rushed to the restroom and peed in it. Guess what, two lines!

I cried. With blurred vision, I ran to my husband and said, “Look! It’s positive!” He was happy, but cautious. He didn’t want to plant hope just yet. He said we’d wait for the doctor’s final word. But I was floating, bursting with joy and possibility. I already had names for them, who I wanted to share the news with, where the christening would be, the people I’d invite.

When I got home, my intuition told me to go ahead and read the box again. And I did. It was an ovulation test.

I wasn’t pregnant. I was just ovulating. And it all came crashing down.

I told my husband I wasn’t sad, that it was just a funny experience. But two days later, I cried the whole day. I begged God to give me an answer. Where are my two lines?

Silence.

Then, a whisper entered my mind: “Not yet.”

I did my best to heal from that experience. I shoved the box into a drawer I told myself I’d never open. I promised myself that no matter the symptom, no matter the excitement, always read the box.

Fast forward to today, I opened that drawer again. I opened myself to the raw emotions I buried: hope and yearning.

Today, I got my two lines. Not from a pregnancy test, but from an ovulation test. I guess this means my body is healing.

2019 me wouldn’t have gotten a positive ovulation test. 2024 me wouldn’t have either.

But 2025 me? She did. I did.

So, I could keep asking, where are my two lines?

But now, I’d rather say: I can’t wait to meet you, my two lines.

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Jenine Lacorte, 29, is a wife, a writer, and a mom-to-be. She believes stories can heal.