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When you least expect it
I have mentioned before that I am a genuine Ace when it comes to preparing for bad and shitty news. As much as I try to dwell in a hopeful place (& I genuinely do for other people), usually I am often having an internal battle with my resident pessimist that lives in my head and the result often sounds like this: “Here comes the bad stuff. Get ready. Brace yourself. Bad stuff is totally coming.”
My unpregnancy in December got me through 3 beta tests. They were betas of 36, 155, 160. And it was waiting for that 3rd beta that I began to really get worried. I started to feel horrible and doomsday from the inside out. And when the bad news call happened I didn’t even flinch. I was resolved instantly.
This morning I had blood drawn for my 3rd beta. It has been an anxious couple of days over here and I have felt very self-protective. My goal for the day was a very over-reaching goal. I wanted MORE than double. I wanted something that would blow the memory of the unpregnancy out of my mind. But a part of me worried that it would be a cycle of bad news.
All day I have been chanting “800 to 1000″ in my mind. See? Cocky overacheiving little fucker that I am, I wanted something beyond normal. I wanted Rock Star. Just once.
And when the home office covert fax arrived it freaked me out. I misread it totally. I saw the numbers “1025″ and nearly fell over from excitement. But then upon closer inspection I realized that “1025″ was actually “10:25″ as in that is when the blood arrived at the lab. The lab form was just my progesterone and estrogen levels. I would have to wait more.
Waiting sucks ass. But ya’ll know that.
Then another covert fax arrived. And I actually had to call Mother at work to see if she could see what I was seeing. It couldn’t be true.
Just when you least expect it good news can make you silent with shock and awe. Beta is 2171.
And not to say the P word or anything…but I think I might be knocked up right now. And I think I have never been this happy in all of my life. Bottling this feeling.
UPDATE:
Northeast clinic just called and they want me to have an ultrasound tomorrow or monday. Um. Holy shit!
That old feeling is squashed: UPDATE
What really sucks is that I am so good at preparing for the worst. SO good. I am like a four star general of waiting for the shoe to drop. And even now, as I try to sit firmly in a happy place, I am feeling the fog lift up around me. It is trying to take me in.
On the way back from the blood lab (& hell yes I was covert fax number add-on girl again) a scene from one of my all time favorite movies popped into my head. It is actually one of the most scary scenes of the movie and to this day it gives me the creeps. And yet, there it was, playing on repeat in my mind, preparing me for the worst…
I hate that I am so good at the dread.
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UPDATE
Too lazy to do a new post but the numbers are in and I am thusly relaxed. For now. heh
Estradiol = 279
Progesterone = 46.1
Beta = 326
Look! A chart that shows, for once, that I am normal. Sweet!
Were you looking for something?
Being covert and clever has its pros and cons. I mean I should TOTALLY get points for adding my home fax number to the blood order this morning, right? Because then I would get the results the same time as Northeast Clinic and could just sit pretty until the call back nurses got to calling me with the numbers. I could be all, “I KNOW!!” or maybe I would pretend like it was news and flex the skills I learned at acting school.
Except, as is usually the case with me, my best laid plans tend to get a bit fucked up.
I got the fax (e-mailed to me in a pdf format) and I COULDN’T READ IT.
I could maybe make out a number, but not really. And that, my dear friends, is annoying as fuck. Because don’t we all just want that wonderful movie moment where we get the news, realize that it is good, and then collapse into the bliss? And when you get a muddy looking fax it sort of robs you of any chance at feeling brilliant or blissful.
So I called the blood lab and asked them to refax. There was a bit of hold music as I am sure a supervisor was consulted about faxing to what I blurted out was my “home office”. You gotta love HIPPA. I was actually hoping they could just TELL me the number. I knew I had a better chance of the blood lab relaying the info in a timely manner than Northeast Clinic (seriously, they kind of suck with the prompt call backs).
So I held. And then finally I was told, sigh, that they would refax. And I prayed like a motherfucker for not only a good number but an EASY TO READ number. I don’t ask for much…
And now I can finally say, without any doubt of fax smudginess, that my 14 dpo beta is 121. I am in a haze of happiness and relief. Will have repeat on Monday, but am refusing to stress between now and then. Nope. Not going to do it.
The problem with happiness
So far I have found only one caveat with being this jubilant and thrilled: getting to and staying asleep is tough as hell. My face is also a bit sore from grinning. There is also this faint headache from unicorn horns poking me in my brain. This morning I woke up and totally farted a rainbow. I’m a fucking goner. Honestly and truly. I have a bus pass to happy town and I am planning on staying there until I get kicked out.
That being said I can imagine that might eventually be a tad annoying so I will try to tone down excessive use of exclamation marks and cartoon imagery. But if you look under my desk these plaid boots are dancing.
Took another test this morning of the digital persuasion. It was my first time using a First Response digital. This brand was purchased because it was new, it was on sale, and because instead of using the P Word the results were either going to be a pleasant “Yes +” or a manageable “No -”. I figured if bad news was a coming that I could tolerate seeing the word “No” vs the words “Not P______”. Very good thinking there, first response. You get a gold star for ease of relating information.
And for those that can’t get enough of what my pee can do you can look here. I vow not to poke anyone’s eye out with a full frontal pee stick again. heh.
GM has been shown the tests and understands what it means. She has shown me how she likes to rock a baby and has been very sweet and soothing. I have an image in my mind of four generations and I keep that image tight in the front of my mind and hope, hope, hope that it will happen.
Thank you all for your awesome outpouring of love. Now it is just keeping it together to beta testing on Friday because, really, that is what it’s all about.
Pendulum Out
You know that pendulum I was talking about? How it swings out or swings in?
Right now it is out in happy land. I hope like hell its stays there for a good long while.
There is a positive pregnancy test in my house. From MY pee. At 11 days past ovulation (8 days past a 3 day transfer). I am hoping like hell this one decides to stay around. We all know that lots of shit can happen, but, unlike last time I am making the choice to be elated from the get go. Fuck angst and nerves. Nothing is in my control right now except how I process this fucking awesome step. The choice is mine: submit to the hallway of doom and bad memories or run for the hills to twirl and sing.
I’m twirling.
Apples and Oranges:comparing sucks
I can’t remember when I first realized that my family was not like other families. There might have been a moment of confusion upon meeting someone’s father or carpooling with someone’s sibling. I would view the extra addition to a friend’s family as “just one of those things”. The differences didn’t bother me as I didn’t feel like I was lacking.
But there were other things, other differences, that I was honing in on. How come my friend got designer jeans? How come my friend didn’t have tummy rolls? How come my friend didn’t have a face dotted with freckles or an overbite? These differences made me suspicious of the world. They made me wonder if I was good enough or clever enough or pretty enough. Having friends in the 3rd grade is like having built in barometers to constantly measure one’s self worth. By age 9 I was far better at coveting than I was at cursive handwriting.
As I got older I continued to compare myself with others. I was aware of differences in looks, attitude, faith, financial security, foot size. I began to work hard to make money so that I could buy the fancy face creams and have weekend visits to spas. I had this deep seeded need to be successful- but my view of success was pretty warped.
I have never been so hard on myself as I was/am during the years of trying to make a baby. Not only was I body hating and freaking out, but I was also part of a community where you saw women get lucky their first try. And immediately you need to know why. Why is that girl getting a baby and I am not? Why is that girl covered with amazing fertility insurance and I am not? Why is that girl so damn lucky?
What sucks is that even now, when I have come farther that I ever have, I am still stuck in the mindset of comparing myself to others. I read about other people’s betas and I feel immediately like the 9 year old girl that had the generic trapper keeper. As if I am some sort of beta fraud with my low and sad little number.
And I know it is stupid, but I just can’t turn off that angsty and jealous feeling of not being cool enough. Here is how messed up my head is: there is a fabulous site that rounds up blog news and puts it in a concise newsletter format. I have dreamed about being listed in the newly knocked up section for ages. AGES. Finally I am listed among women with positive beta numbers. The stinger: every other woman is said to have a “great beta”. My listing says “good”. I mean I guess it is better than “mediocre” or “lame”. But my need to be just as good (or should I say just as great) is supreme.
I wonder if I am already dooming this blob of cells. Am I not being grateful enough? Am I not appreciative enough? I am not sure that is the case. Just thinking that it might work makes my lip quiver with hope.
But I can’t turn off this giant, huge, massive need to have excellence. I want that giant beta and the perfect labs. Everyone else’s beta is greener on the other side.
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