There are many people who contribute to the math for every figure someone quotes to you in the world of infertility and baby making . There are people that achieve successful pregnancies after their first try of going to an RE, and then there are people who achieve success after many years (if at all). The number you will be told will reflect the average of all of these numbers. You might fall in the middle, but someone gets to be at the ends of the spectrum.
When I tried to get pregnant I was told, for most people, it would take around 3 medicated cycles to achieve my dream. I ended up trying 17 times within a span of five years before W came into my life.
The odds of having an ectopic pregnancy after an FET cycle are incredibly rare, but it happens. To a very small percentage an embryo doesn’t implant in the uterus but decides to take a tour of lady town. It could be a fluke, it could be a chromosomal abnormality, there really is no way to know the why. For some people the math just isn’t on their side.
I went to the clinic for blood work Saturday morning and a few hours later the RE called me to say that I needed to come back to the clinic ASAP. If I could not get there by 2pm I needed to go the closest emergency room. We were still in NJ so we booked it back to the clinic.
My beta rose. A LOT. Into the thousands. Things were now officially tricky. I was given a shot of methotrexate and all the paperwork that detailed what will happen next.
This afternoon I go back for repeat blood work, a fetal ultrasound, and a consult with the RE that will be on call today. Can you tell how much I am looking forward to that? This is the time that I should be going in to check for that beautiful and awesome heartbeat flutter scan. Instead I am going to check the location and demise of everything.
You know I have been pretty good at being three steps back from everything, emotionally. The day I found out that my 1st beta was a 14 I quickly accepted that this was most likely not going to end well. I had a weekend of embracing all of the Pollyanna hopes and dreams and then another day or so of thinking I might land on the other side of math and numbers.
The constant rubber band of “could it?” to “no way” to “maybe?” to “doesn’t look good” has finally cracked the dam holding back the raw feelings. It doesn’t help that the hcg symptoms have been awful.
I’ll update later this afternoon.