burnt toast life

even more drama in toast-land

I’d love to tell you that the bleeding stopped, but so far it hasn’t. It’s been on and off since the ultrasound on Tuesday eafternoon, and at this point I’m about ready to lose my damn mind.

I woke up last night at 3 a.m. and totally lost it. Sobbing, begging God to please let me keep this baby – the whole nine yards. I had just been woken up to the worst sore throat, so much nasal congestion I could barely breathe, no voice (from the sore throat) and you guessed it – more blood. I’m laughing at the thought of being freaked out over a teaspoon. I’ve basically had 6 periods in 2 days and I’m seriously wondering how there could be anything left in there.

On top of that – sore throat. Yeah. This is exactly what happened last time and what I’m assuming was the reason for my last miscarriage. My immune system is freaking out and I have no idea what I ate or drank that made it so mad. Yesterday I had no appetite at all so I literally just had strawberries, bread with butter and some leftover chicken and veggies. Water and seltzer to drink. So… it’s the berries? I don’t know. Part of my 3 a.m. pleas with God included promises to eat only the plainest, non-sugary foods in existence and drink water from here on out. I know I had joked about doing that before, but I was being so careful and not reacting to anything, so I thought all was well. Then I hit 6 weeks and it was like a light switch went on in my body. I have no idea what I’m reacting to. The good news is that I’m so stuffed up and miserable that I don’t even feel like eating. (And lest you think I have a sudden coincidental summer head cold, I will tell you that I woke up this morning to a clear throat and nasal passages, just with a bit of a croaky voice. I know with 100% certainty that the throat, the congestion and the head fogginess are bizarre reactions to mystery food allergies).

I spent a long time Googling subchorionic bleed and the possibility of them causing miscarriage is 1 – 3%. I read a lot of testimonials from women who bled and bled for weeks and went on to deliver healthy babies. Despite the fact that the ultrasound tech would not commit to this diagnosis, it’s the one that makes the most sense. The fact that I actually saw Weird Gray Mass with my own eyes is comforting, because I know that is the likely cause of this bleeding. To be bleeding this much without that ultrasound would be torturous. But still. No matter how much I’m reassured it could be normal, to see that much blood coming out is a major mindfuck.

This is going to sound awful but I need to say it anyway. I’ve been realizing today how much more attached I am to this baby than I was to the twins. See? I told you it was awful. I was wracking my brain to figure out why and came up with the following:

1) I was very naive while pregnant before. I truly did not believe anything could or would go wrong, so I didn’t feel like I had to bond with them so early. I thought I had all the time in the world.
2) This girl is a survivor. Out of two embryos, she’s the one who stuck. She’s tucked way up in the corner of my ute and I just picture her holding on for dear life (literally). Her little heart kept beating even as I bled. She’s super tough.
3) I feel some modicum of control over the outcome of this pregnancy since I have a good guess as to what went wrong last time. You know, despite the fact that so far I’m failing.
5) The psychic. If I don’t have that… I don’t have much at all. I know it sounds so ridiculous but that prediction has kept me more sane than anything else over these past couple of days. I keep telling myself that I’m going to have this beautiful girl in February. I have to believe that.

This post is all doom and gloom, so here’s a funny story. You’ll recall that there were no maxi pads in the house but since my body has decided to bleed ALL THE BLOOD, I needed something. Despite the fact that the doctor did not request it, I put myself on bed rest and was confined to the couch. That’s why my dear husband, who has never been given this errand before, got sent out to procure maxi pads. He was freaked out but all in all was a good sport about the whole thing. He insisted that he had to buy a Gatorade, too because he couldn’t just buy maxi pads. I asked if the cashier was male or female and he said, “Male, thank God.” I find that funny – if I were a cashier and saw a man buying feminine hygiene products, I would feel a swell of pride and compassion for him. I would think, Wow, what a good guy she has. But to each his own, I guess.

He also picked up dinner from our favorite little grill down the street and I ordered my favorite thing on the menu. But when I ate it, it tasted gross. I’m happy. That means my pregnancy hormones are still kicking in high gear. This morning I was eating my food allergy approved breakfast of fried eggs, a plain baked potato and water when I suddenly felt that pang and thought, I’m going to throw up now. I ran to the bathroom, retched a few times, then came back and finished my breakfast like it was nothing. I have to say, I didn’t throw up at all last time and this little episode made me feel really good.

I called the doctor today, but of course their office is closed for the 4th of July holiday. I didn’t want to call the emergency hotline; I don’t really think it’s an emergency. There is no surgical way to correct this problem. The recommended remedies are bed rest (doing it), blood thinners (taking them) and trying to stay calm and relax (attempting it). As the dishes and laundry and dog hair piles up around me, I’m just doing my best not to move around or think too much.

I’m going to call my OB/GYN tomorrow morning and see if they want me to come in again. Maybe someone else can look at Weird Gray Mass and tell me more definitively what it is. I know you’re all probably reading this whole thing thinking, Damn, this doesn’t sound good at all, she’s probably losing the baby. But I just keep thinking how big that mass was and how much blood it may have contained. I keep thinking about that heartbeat that I saw. I keep thinking about all those stories I read about pregnant women bleeding for weeks and going on to have healthy babies. I keep thinking I’m supposed to have a baby girl in February.

Despite my attempted optimism, I would appreciate all the prayers and good thoughts you have. I’m very nervous. Thank you all for your comments on my last post. I’m very sorry that I don’t have better news to report today. Here is what Baby Toast looked like on Tuesday:

hanging in there

hanging in there

mama called the doctor and the doctor said…

Yesterday my friends and I planned a day at the beach to celebrate one friend who turned 29 on July 1st and one who turns 29 today. The weather ended up being absolutely horrific – I’m talking a downpour on the way there, overcast and freezing when we got there and gloomy all around. But we did have a lovely time just hanging out all together and even sat our butts on the gray and cloudy beach for a whole hour before the skies really opened up (and we thanked our lucky stars for the existence of beach tents and umbrellas). The day was pretty terrific except for one little thing – my throat hurt. A persistent tickle started midway through the day and progressed into full-on sore throat as time went on. I was, understandably, freaking out. Did corn syrup somehow sneak into my food?

My only stray from bottled water was when I stopped for coffee at Dunkin Donuts. I ordered an iced decaf with milk and Splenda (that’s what I always drink), but maybe they used creamer? Or something else evil? Usually creamer doesn’t even have corn syrup, plus I ordered milk, but I can’t think of any other explanation. Something I ate or drank was an epic fail.

I tried my damnedest not to worry about it too much and just enjoy my day. By that point it was too late to do anything anyway. I got home in the early evening and settled in to watch two glorious hours of The Bachelorette. I was home alone (Eric was off on a road trip buying a truck from a coworker) when all of the sudden I felt a “whoosh!” down below. Don’t panic, I thought. Until I went to the bathroom and checked. Bright red blood. Bright freaking red.

I bled for a minute, tops. I’d estimate it was no more than a teaspoon, and it stopped as mysteriously as it started. I walked carefully back to the couch, sat down in a daze and started calling everyone who could offer any words of wisdom. Eric said it’s totally normal and I should calm down because stress makes it worse (uh, yeah). My sister said she bled for hours like a period while pregnant with her son. My mom bled with my brother. I started to feel marginally better, but was still on edge. Between the corn syrup scare and the bleeding, July 1st was not a very good omen.

I woke up with an incredibly stuffy nose and a less sore but still not back to normal throat. I didn’t bleed all night (trust me, all I could imagine was waking up to sheets soaked in blood). I went to work since sitting home would only make me more stressed. I called the OB/GYN first thing in the morning and was half hoping they would say, “No big deal, don’t worry about it.” Part of me was terrified to wait until Monday to do an ultrasound after yesterday, but another part was worried that them bringing me in signaled a reason to worry. Probably because of my history, they did request that I come in for a scan. So I got a surprise ultrasound this afternoon.

I was a bundle of nerves in the morning but as the day progressed I calmed down significantly. Everyone kept telling me to relax and I kept trying to relax but I know how wrong these things can go. I’ve been there. I’ve done that. I kept trying to logically think why there would be blood. I mean, there shouldn’t be blood, right? Why would I bleed? Last time I was spotting post-intercourse but it was traced to that specific event, plus it was light pink and non-threatening. This blood was so red it practically glowed. AND the nurse asked me that – what color was it, did you have intercourse prior. So I assumed them forcing me to come in had to do with the fact that neither of my answers were acceptable.

I had to wait until 3 for the appointment. I won’t beat around the bush: there is one baby and one THANK GOD I CAN SEE THAT LITTLE FLICKER heartbeat. There is also, somewhat alarmingly, a large gray mass in there which the tech had a few suggestions for. She said it could be super fattened up lining from the PIO shots, it could be subchorionic bleeding (basically, blood clots in the uterus that are usually benign but can cause some bleeding) OR it could be the other embryo that attempted to attach and did not develop properly. No matter what, there was a 6 week 1 day little bean in there looking just fine.

There was a huge sense of relief in seeing that heartbeat and in the nonchalant way everyone talks about first trimester spotting. Really no big deal. But then as I was standing at the reception desk scheduling my next appointment, I started bleeding again. And, well, I’m still bleeding right now (3 hours later). It’s kind of on and off but it’s definitely more than a teaspoon this time. The only thing keeping me from absolutely losing my mind is that I know her poking around in there with the ultrasound wand probably disturbed Weird Gray Mass AND that three hours ago, one of my babies was doing just fine. But damn. Can the flow just stop now so I can stop worrying for half a second?

The tech said that New Hope should be able to determine what Weird Gray Mass is at my next appointment or the one after as things develop further. In the meantime I’m laying on the couch like it’s my job and wishing like hell that I had a backup supply of maxi pads, but I figured keeping them in the house would “jinx it,” so I literally have none.

And in case anyone was keeping track, this is all right in line with what the psychic said. My friend said earlier that my gender reveal party will be the most underwhelming thing ever since clearly I’m having a girl in February. Honestly, that’s one of the few things keeping me from curling up into a ball and sobbing at how much a jerk my uterus is, messing with my mind like this.

That’s all, folks. A healthy dose of drama as we march on towards Monday.

flakes (and one final beta)

I have a bit of a rant before I get to beta news. Bear with me.

The last word that anyone would use to describe me is the word “flaky.” I’m far from perfect, but I take pride in my dependability and reliability (yes, I am most certainly a Taurus). If you invite me to something and I say I’ll be there, you better damn well expect to see my face on the scheduled date and time. That’s how I roll. I’m the antithesis of flaky. I’m the human embodiment of Head ‘n’ Shoulders shampoo. I have no tolerance for flakes.

boowhoreI realize that this is not a typical quality, especially in this day and age. Everyone is all, “Yeah, TOTALLY, that sounds like a good idea, we should DEFINITELY meet for lunch on Thursday!” Then Thursday rolls around and the inevitable text pops up, “OMG so sorry, my cat threw up and I can’t make it.” It drives me insane. I know I made an entire list of pet peeves, but by far, flakiness is my number one. Just do what you say you’re going to do, or don’t say you’re going to doing it. It’s that simple.

In case you’re wondering where this rant is coming from, let me tell you about Friday night. I’m part of a book club and have been for about a year now. Call me nerdy, but whatever, I’ve always loved reading and talking about the things I read, so a book club makes perfect sense. We have a fabulous group of girls and have a grand time whenever we get together. But life is busy, and inevitably someone or something gets in the way of scheduling. It’s kind of a running joke – each time we set a date for book club, it gets changed at least four times before we actually meet. But then it ends up being worth it because we have so much fun.

One of our members moved about an hour and a half away, so we thought it would be neat to do book club at her new apartment. It would be a road trip! It would be an adventure! We were all so excited at the prospect. Plus, we were reading The Great Gatsby, so how can you go wrong? We set a date. People couldn’t come. The date was changed. People couldn’t come. It changed again. And so on, and so on, for about two months until we finally decided it would be this past Friday night. I was going to drive everyone because clearly I could not drink. And then…well, you see where this is going. I ended up driving that hour and half all by myself. But you know what? I went anyway.

The girls who didn’t come have become some of my best friends and I can tell you with absolute certainty that they aren’t flaky people. I love them and love spending time with them, plus they are sweet and genuine and caring. If they weren’t, I wouldn’t be friends with them. And both of their reasons for bailing were understandable (no cats vomiting). These friends are not flaky, they just flaked this one time. (And if we’re being totally honest, I will admit to flaking myself for one specific type of event – parties that try to sell me something. Jewelry parties, Pampered Chef parties, Please Buy This Awesome Yet Unjustifiably Expensive Stuff parties. In my defense, I usually RSVP maybe, so it’s not really flaking).

But still, I think the incident speaks to a larger societal problem, especially with my generation. There’s just no dependability anymore. As my aunt pointed out, she’s constantly bombarded with reminders for events and it drives her crazy. She said, “Obviously if I say I’m going to be there, then I’m going to be there. Stop reminding me.” But I pointed out that she’s the exception, not the rule. Most people assume that when you say you’re definitely attending, you’re really a maybe. And maybes often turn into sorry… I have indigestion. I’ll take a rain check.

We ended up having a really good time at book club, despite historically low attendance. There were three of us (me, the host and another friend and book club member who lives close by). The host is a girl who I used to work with who is 24, and is living right outside Manhattan with two roommates. If you ever want to feel ancient… hang out with 24-year-olds. The roommates were very nice, of course, and when they quickly deduced that I wasn’t drinking wine because I was pregnant, there was a lot of shrieking and congratulating. One of the roommates is “like, so totally obsessed with pregnancy and having kids one day,” so she immediately started asking me a bunch of questions. She asked if it was my first and I only paused for a fraction of a second before answering yes. I never really thought about how to answer that question, and in that moment bringing up miscarriage seemed like such a buzz kill. Plus, she was making me feel so delightfully normal. Next, she asked how long I had been married and I answered three years. She nodded emphatically, saying, “Oh yes, that’s perfect then. So you had some time with your husband and now you’re having kids.”

I had to hold back laughter at that one. As if these past three years have just been devoted to “building our relationship” before we started our family. As if I haven’t been consumed with the idea of getting pregnant since day one. As if I haven’t spent every single minute of our marriage worrying about having a baby. As if this baby wasn’t created in a lab somewhere and stored in a freezer. As if we just woke up one morning, decided it was time and magically conceived a baby. Oh, to be 24 and ridiculously optimistic again.

In other news, I had my fourth and final beta yesterday – 14,483. So, still pregnant for now! I’m symptom-free besides some sporadic shooting boob pain and a bout of nausea from waiting too long to eat. My first ultrasound will be on July 8th in NYC (the same day Eric starts his new job, so of course he can’t come) then I just have to make it through two more until I graduate from New Hope. Hopefully for forever. Still holding your breath, everyone? I’ll need it right around weeks eight and nine. Thanks.

side effects may vary, but they all suck

blowfishI woke up this morning and discovered that I was five months pregnant. No, I haven’t morphed into a creepy fairy carrying Andy Bellefleur’s quadruplets (PLEASE tell me someone gets that reference). It would appear that I’m incredibly bloated, which is a fabulous attribute to add to my current state of itchiness and gassy-ness. I’m just a whole lotta sexy wrapped into one here, aren’t I?

I hit my personal peak of fatness in Cayman, and ever since have been slowly slimming down and even fitting into clothes I haven’t worn in months. Of course I realized that this could not last if this cycle was successful, and it goes without saying that I want a huge rotund belly more than I’ve ever wanted anything. But it was a little strange to go to bed with a relatively flat tummy and wake up looking very pregnant, indeed. I’m thinking this has less to do with the baby(ies) and more to do with something I ate that didn’t agree with me. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know what it was.

I was recently caught plugging the new Turkey Hill All Natural ice cream on Facebook because the existence of it practically moved me to tears. Remember, this was mere days after I had to skip the ice cream social at work because they purchased a brand that had corn syrup. ALSO, while waiting in line to pay for my groceries, a kind woman in front of me in line (who I had been silently judging for buying so many TV dinners and HFCS poisoned sodas) turned around and offered me a $1 off coupon for the very same ice cream I was purchasing. It was fated.

The whole scene made me want to go on a rant about how if more food companies cared about people and used fewer, less scary and unpronounceable additives, the world would be a better place. This ice cream has four ingredients – cream, milk, sugar and cocoa. That’s all. Reading the ingredient list made me want to do a fist pump right there in the frozen foods aisle. I imagined a supermarket filled with delightful options such as this, and in doing so, my own personal heaven started to take shape.

But here’s the thing… I am lactose intolerant. And only after two days of savoring small-ish bowls of mind-blowing, all natural ice cream and waking up to super preggo belly bloat did I realize that perhaps I should start popping Lactaid again. Taking Lactaid (a 100% safe for pregnancy drug, btw) makes the biggest difference in the world for me. So now I just have to remember to take it. I never had a reaction to dairy the way I had one to fructose, so I’m not super freaking out over the ice cream gorging. But I have to remember… Lactaid. Always take the Lactaid.

Besides the big bloat, there’s been some creepy itching. I’ve been taking Prednisone, Estrace, baby aspirin, prenatal vitamins and doing PIO injections daily, and I’ve been itchy as all hell. A week ago I got a really fun looking rash on my abdomen that has since vanished, but it feels like my whole body is covered in hives (which it isn’t). I look like Dave Chappelle’s version of a crackhead, constantly and intensely scratching my skin in violent, jerky fits. I was taking the Estrace, PIO and prenatals last go-around and was never itchy, so I have to assume it’s the Prednisone or aspirin. It’s annoying, but still not serious enough to warrant going off my potential miracle drugs. One of those two things will be my salvation here, right? So I’ll just have to continue acting like a quasi-crackhead.

On a serious note, I’m more concerned than normal about things like bloating. My body is supposed to be settled and serene for this part, and it is to some extent, but I’m not 100% perfect yet. Each physical malady leads me to wonder, “Am I screwing this up? Am I causing my immune system to attack the baby toast(s)?” (Shoutout to Lentil for coining the embryos’ new and frankly perfect nickname).

I know, I cannot cause or prevent miscarriage. But over these last few weeks I’ve been thinking that maybe I can. So now that I’m essentially failing, I’m getting irritated. Not to mention bloated. And so itchy. Dammit.

my first hate comment

For the most part, the world of infertility blogs has been a safe place. We are endlessly supportive of one another. We cheer together, we cry together, we vent together. We are all bound by a monumental and elusive common goal – to have a baby (or even a few). Without you ladies, I just don’t know how I’d survive this never-ending roller coaster of emotional highs and lows. I count on each and every one of you to say all the right things (and you always do). Of course I’m grateful for the family and friends who have been nothing but supportive and sympathetic, but they don’t know what it’s like. Thank God they don’t know. I appreciate all the people in my life – online and offline – for the unique, important ways that they have helped me survive this shit. I’m so lucky.

That said – I got my very first hate comment! Woo hoo! I guess I was a little thrown by the whole thing. I’ve had this blog since 2011 and have been writing in earnest about infertility since last fall. In that time I’ve never had the pleasure of experiencing negativity. Everyone has been all, “You go, girl!” for so long that I forgot differences of opinion even existed. MY BAD. A few words about The Hater:

1) I totally respect that she didn’t hide behind the typical “anonymous” cloak of secrecy. That’s pretty ballsy to put your real email out there on a stranger’s blog. Good for her.

2) Her email address is from HARVARD. Because… obviously.

3) Her comment, while out of left field and slightly difficult to understand, did give me pause. Maybe I need to be a little more sensitive.

The comment was in resonse to this post. As posts go, it was far from the most insightful or personal. It was just meant to give a little chuckle to all my knowing infertile ladies out there who have ever combated ignorance on any level. The basic gist of it is that I went to the nail salon, got asked about when I would have kids and ended up telling the nail tech I was infertile and even that I had just gone through a miscarriage. My hope was that telling him would perhaps curb this line of questioning for future clients. I also wrote out verbatim what he had said, so I was in essence “mocking” his broken English (but really not, I was just telling it as I heard it).

Here is her comment:

Sorry to bust the bubble here, but there was also a bit a cultural divide in this scenario. I’m an American (second generation Taiwanese-American) but now live as an expat elsewhere (Europe). From this vantage point, I can say that the entire school we’ve fashioned for ourselves about what constitutes personal and private information, what constitutes infertility sensitivity, and what constitutes a “tale of tragedy”…it’s completely and totally American. We love to name our issues, attach rules to what is or is not acceptable to say, do, and discuss, and cheer each other on for “schooling” manicurists on those rules… [N.B. I’m swallowing the Asian-American “rules” and not schooling you on your take on broken English by a foreigner.]

I’m not one who sets out to hurt feelings maliciously. Admittedly, I’m not always the most politically correct person nor am I especially careful about what I say on my personal blog. This is my home. This is where I come to express my opinions freely, and if you don’t like it, you don’t have to read it. Of course the thing that bugged me the most about her hate comment wasn’t the fact that she disagreed or wanted to “school” me, but that she had the audacity to question my classification of miscarriage as a tragedy by using quotation marks. Really, bitch? I hate to say this and be “that girl,” but unless you have gone through it yourself, SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH. It WAS tragic. Yes, I’m prone to hyperbole and dramatics. Yes, I often exaggerate. That’s in my nature. But when that happened, it was the first time in my life when an over-the-top reaction was actually appropriate. If anything, I under reacted to the whole event. So until you’ve walked a mile in my Target flip flops… just stop.

Next – I was not mocking the nail tech dude. It was endearing (though it’s probably so racist of me to be feeling this way over him) that he tried to offer me a solution to infertility, and even had a basic working knowledge of how IVF worked. It was surprising and adorable (shit, there’s that telltale condescension again). BUT, and here’s the BUT – if he was a caucasion woman, if he was an African American transvestite cross dresser, if he was a lesbian little person, if he was WHATEVER… it’s not OK to start questioning people on when they plan to have kids. Using her line of logic, isn’t that breaking a code? Sure, ask your sister or even your close neighbor. Ask your cousin. But I am a total stranger, and my uterus and it’s goings-on are none of your concern. Let’s talk about the weather. Let’s talk about the merits of French tips and the wondrous advances of shellac manicures.

I’m not really that mad about it. More than anything, I’m confused. First, what the hell was she searching that she stumbled upon my blog? Hopefully not infertility sensitivity, because if so, she’s not doing a great job grasping the fine art of that. And then, happening upon my silly little blog (silly to her, of course, it’s become more than very important to me)… what prompted her to think I would respond to her criticism?

At the very least, I will think twice before writing out my probably degrading imitations of the ways all the Asians in my life speak. I’ll think twice, then probably do it anyway. Cause haters is gonna hate.

Haters_Gonna_Hate_03

sorry for the delay (a.k.a. beta #3)

I am very sorry for skipping my promised post yesterday. I got a frantic text from my sister-in-law at 11:30 p.m. demanding to know my beta, assuming it was bad news since I didn’t post.

The news is good. Beta #3 was 2,462. Four digit numbers are a hell of a lot more reassuring than two digit numbers.

A few people who I told expressed excitement that the number was so high, and thought it might be two. I went back to check – last time at this point with the twins, my beta was over 6,000. So I’m reeeallly thinking it’s just one this time.

Not much more to say than that. I went to bed at midnight last night after having a lovely backyard campfire under the supermoon with some friends, got up at 7, let the dogs out, then promptly fell back to sleep until 11:30. So you could say I’m abnormally tired.

Is it a symptom? Sure it is! I’m going with it, because otherwise I got nothing.

not much to say, but I’m saying it anyway

I came back from vacation and had 61 new blog posts to read. I’m pleased to report that I read each and every one. You ladies have been busy, and it’s only been a week! AND I was reminded that June ICLW starts today, which of course I totally forgot about. So I felt obligated to post even though I don’t have much to say until tomorrow.

To any new visitors, welcome! I just did my second IVF and as of right now, I’m pregs. I have my third beta tomorrow and I’m sort of dreading it. This cycle has fluctuated wildly between borderline cocky confidence and overwhelming frustration and anxiety. I want to get past this part of the unknown. I want to just be happy to be pregnant without the impending sense of doom that something terrible is about to happen.

The beach was great, though Rehoboth in general is ex-pen-SIVE. I’m sunburned and cranky because of it, but I know in a few days I’ll have a healthy-looking tan. Yes, I wore sunscreen. But I’m not really great at re-applying and Thursday was literally the most perfect beach day in the history of perfect beach days. So we sat out from 10 a.m. until about 3, and it was glorious. As nervous as I was to take the time off work, it ended up being just fine. I came back today and got everything done in preparation for the weekend. One sucky thing is that my office sponsored an Ice Cream Social to celebrate the first day of summer and of course all the ice cream and toppings had corn syrup, so I had to abstain. I swear, after all this sacrifice, this kid/these kids better be grateful (but you know he/she/they won’t be).

In other news, Eric was offered and has accepted a new job, which I am so excited about. This new job is closer to our house AND the salary is better, so really it’s a win-win. Oh, and he’ll now be officially making DOUBLE what I make, with an Associate’s Degree to my B.A., because I chose to waste my money on a liberal arts education instead of computer science. Not that I have a clue what I’m doing with computers. Actually, figuring out WordPress was no small accomplishment. But yes, I’m very proud of him and happy that he’ll be home earlier and all that.

I’m rereading what I wrote and even boring myself. I’m sorry guys, I just don’t have a lot going on at this moment. Pregnancy symptoms? Zero. Nothing. My boobs look smaller, if that’s even possible. I’ve been avoiding corn syrup and fructose foods like the plague but I’ll admit that I’ve snuck some bread and pasta, so I haven’t been a very good Paleo girl. Blame it on vacation. I know I shouldn’t, but I’m kind of counting on the Prednisone to block any crazy immune responses when I slip a little bit. I can say that I’ve not touched packaged, preservative-filled food in a long time. But homemade rice pudding at the farmer’s market in Rehoboth? Oh my God, worth cheating and having some sugar and dairy. At least it wasn’t made with evil, evil HFCS.

Ok, time to go apply more aloe. Hopefully I’ll be back tomorrow with some good beta news, then we can all hold our collective breaths until the U/S. And the next one. Basically, you’re allowed to exhale on or around July 22nd. Thank you kindly.

thank GOD (a.k.a. beta #2)

Beta number 2 was not only good news, but the news came in a timely manner. What a pleasant surprise.

Today’s beta was 80, which is the number I had in my head and is perfect doubling time. So…I’m really pregnant! And these low betas are making me think it’s a singleton, so I’m SO happy they transferred two (because if they had just picked one, what if it was the non-planning-on-sticking one?). I mean, technically it could still be two. But with these super low betas and non-crazy doubling time, my money’s on one. And that falls in line with what the psychic said anyway.

I just wanted to clear something up from the other day, when I was acting all cool and non-excited over my positive pee stick. This low beta experience has shown that I’m still a veritable ball of anxiety, and that nothing is for certain. I was grateful the whole time, of course, but I think I was getting a little bit too assured that I could at least make it to 8 weeks, just because I had done it before. These past few days prove that there’s always something to worry about. Always.

Thanks for all your kind words and quick research skills yesterday. I feel soooo much better today. My next beta isn’t until next Saturday, and I just need a break from thinking about it for a minute, so that’s good. I’m actually leaving for the beach tomorrow night and staying until Thursday (impromptu last minute vacation with Eric’s family) and I hear there’s no internet where we’re staying, so if I go MIA next week, that’s why. I’ll see y’all when I’m less pasty white!

Anxiety came back and she’s a total bitch (a.k.a. we have a beta)

Sorry to leave you all in suspense for the beta. The sad fact of the matter is, despite running the test yesterday, I didn’t get the results until this evening. It’s kind of a long story.

I went yesterday morning for the beta at a lab in my area, an option that was offered last time but that I didn’t pursue because 1) New Hope insisted on same-day results, and my normal lab doesn’t do those and 2) I was just used to going to New Hope. But last time, after getting super pissed at the 4-hour round-trip bus ride for a 30 second blood draw, I decided to do something different. I’m sure I’ll have to go back to NYC if I make it to the ultrasound stage, but in these first weeks when they’re just drawing blood, it’s 100% ridiculous to go all the way to New York. I found a lab very close to work that does same-day results, and it’s so much more convenient.

The one downfall of outside lab monitoring: waiting. As much as I claimed to be calm, by 3 p.m. yesterday I was starting to feel a little anxious. For my first beta, I’m pretty sure they called around noontime. Yesterday I kept getting up from my desk and forgetting to take my phone with me, then running back expecting to see a missed call and not being able to reach someone. Were they not calling me because it was bad news? I know they don’t do that, but still… my mind was going nuts.

Of course I didn’t decide to reach out and call them until 4:50 yesterday, and of course they didn’t answer the phone. I had to go through last night not really knowing what the answer was, and on top of that I got a pregnancy announcement from someone pretty close to my inner circle of family/friends (can’t spill who, not sure if she’s “out” yet). I was happy and excited and frankly unsurprised since I knew she wanted another child, but you know… pregnancy announcements bring up such mixed emotions, even though I kept trying to inwardly calm myself with “It’s OK! You’re pregnant too! I mean, probably. Hopefully. Maybe.” It just would have been so much easier to take it all in if I had my solid beta number in my pocket.

This morning I called New Hope first thing, and they claimed to not have received the results, which is why they didn’t call. They gave me a number to fax the results to that was completely different from the one on the paper, so I’m thinking the lab just faxed it to the wrong place. I called the lab, and they agreed to fax it to the new number. Phew. The woman on the phone was literally looking at my results so of course I had to ask, “You can’t tell me what they are, can you? Wink, wink?” She could not. It was just so frustrating knowing that she saw my fate, but I had to wait to hear it. Damn privacy laws. You’re protecting confidential information about me from me. Doesn’t make much sense.

I called New Hope in a couple of hours and they confirmed that the fax came through. Again, the receptionist couldn’t tell me what the results said, and just promised that someone would call me back once the doctor looked them over. I waited. I waited. My phone was permanently attached to my hand, even in the bathroom. We threw a baby shower for a girl at work today, so I sat through the entire thing willing the phone to just freaking ring – yes, another baby-centric event I had to endure with no damn beta.

They never called. I finally emailed and got back a response in about 5 minutes (who would have thought that could work?). And the answer is… Yes, pregnant. Beta is 32.

32.

32?!

Last round my beta at 7dpt was 155. This time, it’s 32. Since my response came in the form of an email and not a phone call, I couldn’t express my skepticism at this number or badger anyone to make sure it’s acceptable. I’m currently badgering a friend from the IF world via text, which I’m sure she appreciates.

So Anxiety is back, full force. Worry is back. Calm packed his bags and left. Why do I have to know any of this shit? Why do I have to obsess over betas and doubling? Why can’t I just pee on a stick and assume that in 9 months I’ll just have a baby? Faaaaccckkkkkkkk it.

The most underwhelming BFP in the history of BFP’s

I’m going to let you all in on a little secret. Don’t get mad at me, OK?

I’ve been eerily calm, for like, weeks now.

I cannot explain it, nor can I give any advice on how to achieve it. Months ago I was a veritable bundle of anxiety, bouncing around worst-case scenarios and totally owning that shit. Not only was I highly stressed, but I was also kind of proud of it. I had issues. My stress was justifiable.

But lately, out of nowhere, I’ve adopted this live-and-let-live, whatever will be, will be attitude. I wasn’t even trying. In the past, every time that I tried to convince myself to calm down, I did so with the wink-wink, nudge-nudge of knowing it wasn’t actually going to happen. It’s like telling yourself to appreciate every moment, or don’t sweat the small staff. Nice in theory – mostly impossible to practice. Then something inside of me inexplicably shifted.

It was an interesting way to spend the 2ww (or in my case, 1ww). Of course I was aware that I could be pregnant. But… I didn’t think about it every moment. I didn’t obsess over when I could test. Actually, I didn’t even decide whether to POAS until this morning. This morning! As in, 2 minutes before I actually did it (I think deep down I knew I would. But I didn’t obsess over it like last time).

Despite my lack of nail-biting, I was extremely relieved to get that BFP this morning. Telling Eric was pretty funny, he could not have been less surprised. Later on he admitted to be hesitant to get too excited until 12 weeks, which I totally get. It’s scary and exciting. I fully realize that I should be freaking the hell out, but I’m just… not.

There’s a tiny, eensy weensy voice inside that’s wondering if my HCG levels are registering a positive because I wasn’t back to zero a week before the transfer. How high do your levels have to be to get a positive? Plus, I did get the HCG injection on Thursday with the transfer. Could it (gasp!) be a false positive? I suppose it could. I’m hoping not.

Beta tomorrow. Then a few weeks of terrifying ultrasounds. Then hopefully trimester two brings a sense of security.

But for now… calm. Maybe it really will turn out OK in the end.