caved

So you’ve seen the stats.  Now I’ll give you the fluff.  The ups and the downs.  The You Probably Don’t Want To See This Side Of Me dirt.  In all it’s grubby glory.  And, warning, there are parts of this you won’t want to read if you’re in the thick of it, ttc-wise.

There was a whole fuck up with the RE clinic, to which I referred earlier today, and while I won’t go into detail (because I have no desire to relive it), I will say that shit was hard.

Damn.  The whole thing is hard – I’m tired and it takes nothing more than a glance to hurt my feeling enough to make me cry (remember, I’m not so much with the crying).  Honestly, I thought it was all kittens and chocolate covered bacon after a positive htp.  But no.  It’s not and everyone of you who’s ridden or is ridding the infertility train knows it.  It’s hard and full of doubt and anxiety and teeth gnashing and hope that you fear might be false.  And, good lord, was I ever rolling around in the muck of that this week.

But then, at some point last night, in between turning out the light and The New Girl showing up, I rolled myself right out.  Now, mind you, this was the in between time – after my RE told me he suspected that my positive test would turn to a chemical pregnancy, but before I got today’s beta results, which make that chemical retreat a bit and caused my RE to happily eat his words.  But, there in the half dark of my room, between waking and sleeping, I had a moment of deciding that I’d be ok, that I didn’t have to freak out in order to make this real – I’d feel hope and bask in the IVP love that was all around and I’d enjoy whatever bits of this pregnancy that I get to enjoy.

Was it the un-fucking-flaging chorus of belief from the IVP?  Megan’s post about a study regarding miscarriage and TCL  (which somehow reminded me that my anxiety adds exactly *nothing* to this party)?  My neighbor’s email that read “call me old school, but if you haven’t gotten your period yet, I still have hope” ?  Whatever, I turned something of a corner and was just ok.  Breathing and fine.

Now, this is not to say I didn’t feel any anxiety at all when I called for my beta results this afternoon.  Nor is it to say that I am now Fully Confident there will be a baby from my body at my house in May.  And far be it from me to expect nothing but those kittens and chocolate bacon from here on out (Ha! Check back next Tuesday while I wait for my 4th and hopefully final beta).  But.  I am pretty ok.  That’s my usual state, anyway.  And it’s really pretty great.  I have these moments of feeling like I’m pregnant.  For real.  Yay.

Meanwhile, LB has offered to marry me and take me away to the BVIs.  So I’m off to check my hope chest and polish my bikini.  I mean, pack my bikini.

Betas:

Thursday, September 18th – 22

Friday, September 19th – 28

Wednesday, September 24th – 185

Friday, September, 26th – 369

No, there was no ultra sound Wednesday.  There’d have been nothing to see, but somebody scheduled me anyway.  Yes, I spoke to the Powers That Be at the RE’s office about that fuck up.  Yes, I got preped for a chemical by my RE on account of those early numbers.  Yes, this week as been totally from hell and I seem to cry all the MF time.  And yes, we are still in the game, y’all.  Just keep breathing.

(All you local kids will remember that this is not a topic for public consumption, yes?  Not really even with me.)

My neighbors have a tv.  Sometimes I go over there to watch it.  TV is a fun distraction – who knew?

Meanwhile, my donor called to say there was a stork in his yard.  Go figure.

Ultrasound on Wednesday.  See you then.

Yes, please.  I’ll take mine with a side of local tomatoes.

So this morning’s htp (Clear Blue digital) said, and I quote, “not pregnant.”  So I started wigging out a smidge.  Ok, more than a smidge.  But I was convinced – Convinced, I tell you – that yesterday’s beta would tell me something meaningful and I’d know one way or the other.

Meanwhile, the IVP virtual handholding was good and tight.

I called the RE (they’ve shaken up the system over there and I no longer talk to Martha – poo.) and by some miracle they had yesterday’s results right there waiting for me at 8 am: 22.  And I was all, and I quote, “ummmm……”  Now what the fuck do I do with that?  Get another beta is what.  22 is fucking low, but it’s all about the doubling time.

Meanwhile, the IVP continued to rock the house.

So my ever fab assistant said she’d cover lunch so I could run and see my friends at the lab for a repeat beta.  Whew.  Had I not been able to go by 1 o’clock, I would not have gotten the results until Monday.  MONDAY?!  Lord.  As it was, I got there at 12:30 and the lovely lab people ordered the results STAT (I’d no idea they really said that) and then stuck me – no tourniquet, because I am a blood work rock star.

Today’s beta is 28, which gives me a doubling time of 2.87 days.  Not great, but I’ll take it.  Along with the positive htp that I got this afternoon.

They’ve got me scheduled for an ultrasound Wednesday at 4, so I’ll just breathe until then.

3 years ago, I was sitting on my porch, on the swing to be exact, writing about “My Journey Through TTC.”  Ok, I didn’t call it that, because I don’t call things journeys unless there is real movement of bodies through space involved.  But you get the idea.  A year ago, I started blogging and cut and pasted that snippet from 3 years ago into one of my first posts.  (So it’s really more than a snippet – you don’t have to go read it.)

So here I am, on the porch again, 3 years and 2 weeks since I started trying to knock myself up.  Upstairs, on my dresser, is a positive htp.

Holy fucking shit, y’all.

There’s a vial of my blood at the lab, awaiting a beta and a prog check. As Bri says, clap your hands if you believe in hCG.

And cross everything you’ve got that this is a take-home baby.

(All you local kids can just keep this under your hats, yes?)

Can’t think of a title.  Can’t even blog properly.  God damn, the start of the school year is hard.  Last week, I’d have told you it broke me.  We’ll see what happens this week.

Horrible and classic premenstrual irritation this afternoon.  11 dpo, if you’re counting.  I am sort of not.  Sort of.

All other things are good.

Good lord, I miss y’all.

Today, for the first time ever, I went to the market late.  As in, I got there after 8 am.  *sigh*  More like 10:55 am, actually.  LB went to the market before me.  WTF?  That’s what I say.  Pigs are flying somewhere.

See, I meant to go at my usual 7:15 time, with good old JG, but it was raining.  For real raining, on account of the edge of the hurricane that’s moving up the east coast.  And sometimes it’s hard to get out of bed, what with The New Girl and all.  (Yes, nosey, it’s like *that*.)  So I neglected to call JG and stayed in bed.  The New Girl had plans to meet her neighbor at the market at 10-ish and so I went with them, convinced that everyone would notice my late arrival and my market reputation would be lost.  Lost.

Back in the day, you know, the market was small and less crowded and if you got there before 9, you were good – a good selection of everything, good sightings of people to mirate or snark on, etc.  But now?  Ha.  Get there after 7:30 at your peril.  The rows are so crowded with the New Privileged Elite of Virginia that you can barely walk.

Anyway, we got there  just before 11 today, in the rain no less.  There were few vendors and even fewer people – just like the good old days!  Michael, from Planet Earth Diversified, was busy talking to some customer about arugula (they use greenhouses, yo – so there’s greens year round – baby ones no less), but he whipped his head around when I came up to get my coffee and said, “what are *you* doing here so late?”  There goes my reputation, y’all.  Lost, I tell you.

Yeah, yeah, I’ve been gone.  I’ve been busy.  Sort of.  And now school has started and my ass is kicked.  Kicked, I tell you.

Sara, of Egg Dance fame,  has some *lovely* things to say about how you know when you’re a ttc veteran.  Really, go read them.   Numbers 6 and 8 particularly “resonate” with me.

So yes, it seems I am back on the train o’ bitterness that goes with ttc.  The month off was so fucking (somehow I just typed that as “god cucking” – wtf?) great that I am almost loathe to get my ticket punched again.  And they started charging for blankets!  Hello, train o’ bitterness?  We infertiles would like our blankets for free, thanks.  Lord.  What is wrong with people?  Charging for blankets?  They may as well charge you to have a baby.  Oh, wait – they do that.

In other news, school has started.  And is predicablly kicking my ass.  On the bright side, I have managed to walk to work and then take the bus home 2 days in a row.  Woo!  I heart the bus.  Also, walking means music in the mornings on the way to work, which leads me to this question:  in the song “Marry Me” is Dolly saying that her man “knows all about lovin’ stuff” or “all about love n’ stuff”?  Please weigh in down there in the comments.  If you don’t know the song I am sorry for you.

Meanwhile, all I want to do is sit around and eat tomatoes.  Don’t you miss this being a food blog?

N.B.  Cheese from the aforeblogged trip to DC, by way of Two Hot Mamas, who I should have blogged about meeting but didn’t.  See excuses above.  Also note well, they are fab, those hot mamas.