I swore that if I was ever lucky enough to get pregnant that I wouldn't complain about a single symptom. And so far, I haven't. When I had some minor morning nausea, I was glad, because it meant Things Were Still Happening. The early low back pain and implantation cramps made me smile. Boob tenderness? Fills me with unspeakable joy. I even missed the heartburn and gas I'd gotten on previous cycles supplemented with various forms of progesterone.
But Harold, man...Harold is a tough one. I spent most of the drive to my beta test jamming my left foot against the floor of my car so that I could lift my butt off the seat and give my swollen self some relief. There was a therapy session with Chance that saw me wiggling like someone with ants in her pants, so uncomfortable that at one point I actually had to stand up. At home I spend a lot of time lying on my side.
Despite all of this, I would gladly endure eight more months of screaming Harold pain if it meant that I could keep this baby.
There are no physical signs of miscarriage - no cramping, no bleeding, no spotting, nothing. But there also aren't a ton of pregnancy symptoms either. I have some soreness in my breasts and I'm falling asleep by 9:30 almost every night. But other than that and some minor queasiness on the occasional morning, there's nothing going on.
I didn't cry yesterday, though I did spend hours Googling things like "great first beta low second successful pregnancy" and "low hcg but normal ultrasound." I read blogs and message board posts that confirmed my fears (pregnancies that ended in miscarriage) and those that gave me hope (women who had wonky betas that never doubled properly but yielded fat, happy babies). Most of the miscarriage stories included tales of early spotting/bleeding and hCG levels that were far lower than mine. I started to wonder: Am I overreacting to the low hCG level? My RE didn't seem super concerned, and no one told me to prepare myself for miscarriage. No one at Posh Clinic said anything remotely close to "it doesn't look good."
So why am I so
I'm guessing it's just good old-fashioned fear. Me trying to protect my sometimes-fragile heart. It's a recurring MO for me: expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised when the worst doesn't come.
And I have to remind myself that I've been wrong about almost everything with this pregnancy so far, down to being certain that I'd have nothing of mine left to transfer. Never in a million years did I think our embryo would make it to blast, but it did.
Could I be wrong about this, too?
I really, really, really hope I am.
I'd wanted to go in for another beta today, but the rando nurse I spoke to at Posh Clinic said NO WAY. She was all, "You're just going to worry yourself sick!" I told her that I was doing that already. She said, "We can't know anything for sure until we get the next ultrasound." I told her that I understood and that I'd still come back on Monday, but I didn't think I could survive the weekend not knowing the direction in which things are heading. She said, "But if it hasn't doubled, you'll be in a panic." To which I replied, "If the number has declined, I can start to prepare myself for the inevitable. If it goes up - even if it hasn't doubled - I'll know I'm still in the game." She said, "If you came in and your hCG was 2,000, you'd be fine?" I said, "Yes, because it's still going up."
She put me on hold. When she came back she said, "Dr. Smiles doesn't think you should come in until Monday."
"Fine," I told her. "See you on Monday."
I was angry when I hung up. How dare she decide what's best for me? I need data. I need information. These things make me feel better. Why would she deny me peace of mind?
I thought about calling my primary and asking her to do the blood draw. But then I just felt tired. Like, does it even matter? If I'm going to miscarry, I'm going to miscarry, right?
This morning I had to make a quick run out to the store. When I got in the car, Prince's "Let's Go Crazy" was on the radio and I turned it up and started dancing like a freak. I felt happy. Then, as I pulled into the Walmart parking lot, I felt sick. Like, nauseated sick. I thought, "It's all in your head. You want to feel nauseated, so you are." I picked up the few items I needed. I checked out. Nope, still nauseated. Came home. Did some work. STILL NAUSEATED.
You have never seen someone so happy to feel sick in your whole life.
My boobs are increasingly sore this morning, too. And when I was changing back into my PJs - because really, what good is working from home if you don't do it in your PJs? - I had this feeling in my heart that everything was going to be okay. That this baby was fine. That I was not going to miscarry.
This was immediately followed by my brain telling my heart not to get my hopes up. "You're just setting her up for failure," the brain said. "Just because you want something to be true doesn't mean it will be."
"Shut up, Brain," my heart said. "Let her have this one, at least for today."
(Yeah, I'm perfectly normal. I mean, your organs talk to you, right?)
At any rate, two days ago I was a sobbing, broken mess. Yesterday I was flat and numb. Today I'm dancing to Prince songs and feeling oddly at peace.
I don't know what's going to happen next, but I do know this: I'll be okay, no matter what.