dum spiro spero

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.

numbers

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.)

how about some ambiguity?

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.

same as it ever was

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?)