Probably Not

This is the worst emotional roller coaster I've ever experienced. Last night I held on tight to those five little words the nurse uttered: "it looks okay to me." I thought, "Yes! Everything is gonna work out! I worried for nothing."

Fast forward to this morning. The nurse called me back and left a wonderful message that the doctor reviewed my file and, in fact, even though the hcg levels are doubling, they aren't high enough for a viable pregnancy. I'm scheduled for an ultrasound on Monday, where they should be able to see if there's anything inside the embryonic sack - or just empty. At this point, almost into my 7th week, they also should be able to detect a heartbeat. But, it sounds like they don't have a lot of hope for either of those situations.

This is all so desperate. And sad. And lonely.

A Glimmer

I went in for my third hcg level test this afternoon. The office called later in the day but I decided to wait to listen to the voicemail until I was safe at home - I could have a nervous breakdown on my couch with my little puppy by my side.

The nurse leaving the message informed me that the levels had doubled and that she thought everything looked "good" but that of course she would have to leave my file for the doctor to look at. So, it seems they will likely have me back for yet another round of blood tests to make sure they double again OR they'll do an ultrasound to see if they can locate a little spec the size of an m&m.

I feel like they're just toying with my emotions. One moment it's doom and gloom and the next they're proffering a teeny little seed of hope.

I know there's absolutely nothing I can do. This is not my story to unfold. God's got it figured out and He knows what's best for me and has a very specific plan.

I did break down and call my mom and tell her what was going on. I just needed her to know. My own maniacal mommy is irrecplaceable.

He gives and takes away

Last weekend was filled with excitement, joy, nervousness, and utter astonishment. We were pregnant! Went to the Dr's on Saturday for the blood test, and they confirmed, I was pregnant. It was great - We had a secret that no one else knew. I started dreaming, planning, thinking about the impact it would have on our life. I bought a big bag of oyster crackers - knowing the nausea I was feeling was only bound to get worse. But I was in my 6th week of pregnancy!

Yesterday I went to the Dr's again - they wanted to see how my HCG levels were coming along. I got the results back that afternoon. Not good. HCG levels are supposed to double every 48 hours. Mine only went up 50%. They weren't that high to begin with, so having them only go up 50% wasn't a good sign. The nurse told me that I will mostly like miscarry - that the pregnancy, my pregnancy, is probably unviable.

I know that there's a reason for it. I know that lots of women go through this. I know that it means it wasn't healthy. BUT, that doesn't help with the pain and utter feeling of helplesness.

Now I wait, once again. This time for the physical sign of shattered hopes, the tangible expression of lost dreams that were so close to being realized.

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

Chickened Out

Still haven't POAS'd (Peed On A Stick, for all of you unfamiliar with fertility lingo). I have, instead, officially grown a large beak and have begun clucking around the house, pecking at objects looking suspiciously like grains of food. I have totally psyched myself out. Too scared. Too worried about getting a negative. I've unwittingly allowed myself to start dreaming about seeing the double line, about telling my friends and family, about picking the name. I can't back down.

I've convinced myself that being 18 days past our IUI, and not getting my period MUST mean that I'm pregnant. My boobs being sore MUST mean that I'm pregnant. The constant little twinges in my abdomen MUST mean that I'm pregnant. Now I just can't find out that it's not true. I would rather be let down with the appearance of a little color on the Charmin than from the harsh plastic stick that has proffered countless number of single lines...never a second.

I'm blaming my lack of testing on the convenient fact that most experts agree that POAS should occur first thing in the morning - pee that's been sitting around in your bladder overnight has a higher percentage of hcg (the hormone that pregnant women create and was previously injected into my hiney). We always pee on the stick together...we really both want to see the miraculous second line appear (just like the star above Bethlehem)at the same time - this means that we can't take the test in the morning before work because DH leaves an hour before I even pull my sorry arse out of bed. That leaves Saturday. This has become my convenient excuse. So, I'm thinking of waiting two more days. We've made it this far...what's a few more days? Less than 48 hours...

I admit - I've been surfing

I can't stop looking at pregnancy boards today. I keep googling "signs of pregnancy" and "how many days past IUI should you test" - anything that might give me a nod, one way or another. I just wish there was some way of knowing without taking the dreaded test. It's just so final. Every day that I don't get my period means one more day of precious oblivion.

I've looked at the list of Things You Need to Bring Home Baby. The one I looked at was fairly short: a car seat, somewhere for it to sleep, diapers, onesies, and a first aid kit. Wow. I'm sure there are ones that are 20 times as long - but that one seemed manageable.

But, yet, I know I am getting way ahead of myself. My first item on the agenda is to take the damn test. If I could just get up my nerve!

Nerves of Steel

It's two weeks and two days past IUI and we still haven't tested. We decided to sit back and just do it the old fashioned way - wait. I feel like we're just postponing the inevitable - just delaying bad news. That's my negative Nelly creeping in, or "hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst."

We may wait a few more days, or just do it. It's definitely time. Whatever the test says, that's probably what it is. Arg! It's like opening that letter from your college of choice - did you get in, or didn't you? Does it say, "welcome, you're a parent!" Or, does it say, "not quite yet, try again."

Brian has been so supportive. I think he really understands how much this tears me up inside. I'm thankful for his patience. Who else would deal with the crazy mood swings and sudden outbursts of tears?

Either Skinny Or Pregnant

I decided a few weeks back that if I couldn't get pregnant, at least I could be skinny. Not that being skinny promises happiness or replaces a lifetime of joy from a child, but, at least I would have only one thing to be depressed about instead of two.

SO...I joined Weight Watchers. Er, well, I actually just went back. You see, I'm a LIFETIME MEMBER. It means that at some previous point, I had the willpower to say NO to food, and was able to hack off almost 25 pounds from this amazing body. However, going back means that I have since gained back all of that weight (and maybe just a teency bit more).

I have twice before "gone back" and on average, lasted about a week and a half before quitting. There's so much shame involved! You stand in front of the lady who can see your weight tally up on the scale (no one else can). She looks at it, looks at your chart and usually says something like "holy cow you are a big one." Just kidding. She usually just says, "okay! Well then! Welcome Back!"

I can honestly say that at the end of week three I'm doing alright. Not breaking any records. But doing alright. A few pounds lighter which means I'm not any heavier - which is a good thing.

A prick, a baster, and a rash

We decided to try the whole shebang again this month. Pills, injections, ultrasounds, specimins - gave them the green flag. Although there was some consternation when we (I) lost the 5th and last clomid pill. Just couldn't find it. It was as if it had grown legs and walked away. I was SO irritated. But, Brian found it, hiding under a stack of mail, which I know for a fact I had rifled through at least three times.

With the pills down the hatch, I had an ultrasound and was happy with two good-sized follicles. The LNP sent me home with a vile of hcg and a couple of needles. Here's where it gets sketchy. I could either a). use a shorter, thinner needle, and give myself a shot in the stomach, or b). use a needle double in lenth and a bit thicker, and have dear husband give it to me in my rump. What a choice! I could do it myself, and most likely pass out in the process, or, trust my (bless his heart) large-fingered husband with a HUGE needle.

There was much debate over the pros and cons of each and much fiddling with the vials. There all this mixing to do, and filling the syringe and getting out air bubbles. Hopefully none of our neighbors were peeking in our windows - they might think we found ourselves a new past time.

We chose a modified option A. I pinched and held a big roll of fat just left of my belly button while he plunged the needle into said jelly roll. It hurt. Not a lot, but enough to get my attention and nearly smack sweet husband in the face. It was over pretty quick. No panicked call to the nurse required.

Had the IUI yesterday. It was early in the morning, awkward, and seemingly futile. This miracle of life reduced to a few vials and injections via a fancy turkey baster. We remain conservatively hopeful nonetheless.

I also woke up to a whole lotta pain in my mid drift. Apparently I had an allergic reaction to the injection and it left a big huge welt. This made it painful to sit, or bend, or laugh. It will go away, so I'm told.