mystery uterus

Still Pregnant

I have been told that if I disappear and give no pregnancy updates, I am an asshole. (You know who you are!)  Point taken, friends.

So here I am, to tell you of my week. It has been glorious, in all truth. Last Friday's numbers were oh so good: 24,401 hCG and 96 prog. Beauteous. I've felt crappy every since my family arrived, which of course has been a source of constant comfort. Every time a hug made my breasts sing in pain, every time I could hardly choke down food 'cause of a severely sour stomach, was a much loved feather in my pregnancy cap.

My parents were delirious. Whenever my father entered or left the house, he would lean down and say hello or goodbye to my stomach. Very cute. My mother was constantly telling me to take it easy and rest. Which, I have to say, was hardly a matter of choice. Good grief, the fatigue! I knew it was normal to be tired, but I hadn't expected to fall into a deep coma every afternoon around 4:00, and to spend the rest of the day in a semi-alert state of half-sleep. It's a good thing everybody was excited about the sprite. It gave them plenty to talk about, while I sat and stared stupidly at the wall. I've been so tired I've had basically nothing to contribute, except to tiredly smile and nod when somebody made a joke or told a good story. I'm a thrill a minute.

Of course, it wouldn't be an infertility pregnancy without anxiety and cautious expectation Today I am feeling very very nervous. I woke up feeling way too good. My nausea hasn't been all that bad, really, but today it was basically gone. My boobs are only a little sore, and I'm not tired. And lunch went down way too easy. After days of forcing myself to eat because food just tastes wrong, I scarfed down my meal and licked my chops. Bad, very bad. Why don't I feel worse? And to top it all off, a little while ago I had a few small cramps, which I haven't had in over a week.

Very nervous. I dread a miscarriage, and I fear the missed abortion most of all. The thought of my sprite lying listless, already dead and me not even knowing ... shudder. I know I shouldn't think these things. I know I should be positive about this pregnancy and thankful that I've come this far. But today, I'm not really feeling that way.

We have an appointment for our first sono on Monday, where we should hopefully hear the heartbeat and find out how many embryos are hatching in there. Hearing a heartbeat will make me feel much better, I think. That will be a great great day.

5w3d

What shall I say? How incredibly happy I am? How I look down at my stomach and wonder what the sprite is doing in there? How I try to envision the dimensions of an apple seed? How I nearly cry in terror every few days when I think I've done something to endanger it? How my fumbling fright comingles with continuing, gleeful shock that we've actually managed to do this? How every day looks different now, filled with cautious light rather than the darkening despair of the last few months? How I feel deliciously, unnervingly, undeservedly lucky?

Yes, let's talk about that last one. I feel so lucky. Why me? When so many others are still struggling? Why not me, I suppose, but still. There's hardly any logic or fairness to all of this, is there? Somehow, luck touched us, and I certainly hope it stays. I've never wished for anything harder. Yet I do feel sad and a bit, I don't know, sheepish? It's keeping me from posting, and from commenting much on other blogs. I remember other newly pregnant infertiles expressing similar sentiments, and I remember thinking that of course they should continue to write about their experiences and make comments in the blogs of those of us still trying. But I would be lying if I didn't confess that I also usually felt a pang of envy as I watched their pregnancies unfold. Just a touch, though. Mostly I would continue to check in on them, wanting to make sure that nothing bad had happened yet, that the stars still shone for them, that it hadn't gone dark. And it would make me genuinely glad, despite my wistful jealously, when all was right and gestational sacs were seen and heartbeats were heard and first trimesters were completed safely.

So here I am, one of them. At least for now anyway. It's hard to believe, and yet I do believe it. Oh yes, I believe it and I breathe it in as deep as I can. Even though I know it's still very early, and plenty could go wrong. We haven't even heard a hearbeat yet. But even this tenuous good fortune is making me a bit tongue-tied and careful about what I should or want to post.

My family arrives for the holidays tomorrow, and I'm sure I'll be swimming in stockings and cookies and good cheer. It is a wonderful Christmas this year in the lobster household. So I'll be taking a little time-out from my blog during the festivities. That will give me time to think about what happens to an infertile blog when it becomes an early pregnancy blog. And hopefully, the next time you hear from me, everything will still be okay with our little sprite. In the mean time, big sloppy blessings on all of you. *Smooch*

A Beautiful Number

Hwwaahhhaaaaahhhh.....

That's the sound of me breathing a HUGE sigh of relief. My hCG levels today are 2,557, which according to this site means a doubling time of 34.6 hours. When I got off the phone with J., my nurse, I literally hollered out loud with joy and then started crying. I was so nervous, and I am so so relieved and happy to hear these numbers.

That's all the good news I needed, but on top of that, my progesterone is 86. So I've been instructed to go off the progesterone suppositories. Off the progesterone suppositories! Now, these have become such a familiar part of my routine, it seems weird to just stop them altogether. Makes me a little nervous. But mostly I'm really glad that my body seems to be producing enough of the stuff on its own. That's an unexpected but lovely turn of events.

Next blood draw: Christmas Eve. I can wait. For the moment, this is all I need. I am so happy.

Happy Anxiety

I've had regular menstrual-like cramps since Friday, which I have to say is a strange experience. They produce a very Pavlovian effect in me. (*rrrruff!*) I feel the cramps, and I think "okay, this feels normal, i'm about to get my period." And then I remember that, no, these cramps are different. My head knows that, but really, they feel very very similar. How strange. I love them, though, because they reassure me that I'm still pregnant.

On the other hand, today my boobs aren't nearly as sore as they've been the last few days. I keep pummeling them to see if they're tender. I'm a self-abuser. (Not in that way, you perves. Okay, some times in that way.) So today's diminishing soreness has of course thrown me off my "be happy, stay positive, don't worry" course. Does breast tenderness come and go? Is that normal? Now I'm wondering how in the world I will last until Friday. And what if Friday's numbers aren't good? Terrible. Can't think about that.

How do people do this? How do they survive the first few weeks? the first few days?? I'm really so excited, and relieved, and amazed that this has happened. I want to just enjoy it.  I've never miscarried (obviously, since I've never been pregnant), so there's no reason to believe I have more of a chance of miscarrying than anyone else. And during the long months and months of trying, I told myself that if I ever got pregnant, I would do my best to relish every moment without getting tripped up by neurotic anxiety. And so far, I'm sort of doing that, but I also worry. I can't help it.

Wow, this is harder than I thought it would be. I really believed that if I managed to get knocked up, I would be so grateful and happy, tripping gaily along in googly wonder at my good fortune, that my joy would drown out any other worries. Guess that was pretty naive. I'm full of hope and happiness, but there's a pretty strong undercurrent of fear too.

About 72 hours 'til my next beta levels come in. Tick tock tick tock.

Right Now

Thank you so much everyone for the kind words and congratulations. It means so much to me, I can't tell you. I really don't know how I would have survived the last few months without you, and I'm so happy you're with me at the beginning of what I hope will be a long and safe journey.

Last night was thrilling and almost unreal. My husband and I were so happy, and we decided to call our families right away. My dad was so happily surprised, my mom practically hyperventilated, and my brother cried. I love my family. I also told a couple of close friends, who knew how long we'd been trying. It was lovely to hear them express unrestrained congratulations. I was already worried about something going wrong, but they weren't, and that was really nice. Felt like oxygen.

Telling this close circle did make me a little nervous. What if something happens now, I thought? It seems like tempting fate to be even that open about our good news. But today, I'm feeling pretty ecstatic. I know I need to be cautious, and as a committed member of the infertile blogosphere, I know only too well what can go wrong. But honestly, right now, anxiety is taking up a really small part of my head. Mostly I am relieved and full of joy. Real heart-bending joy.

I don't have another beta until Friday!! I can't believe they're waiting so long. So I can't really worry about the rate of increase until then, which means I'm gonna do my best to enjoy this week. I'm pregnant. I've never been able to say that before. I was starting to worry I never would. I'm just gonna enjoy saying that to myself for the next few days, and take it from there.

Holy Shit

So I guess those symptoms weren't so fake after all. I'm pregnant. Me! I'm so grateful. And shocked. And amazed. Oh my god.

hCG was 88.

Of course, today of all days, I tripped and fell on the stairs. TWICE. The stupid hem on my pants kept getting stuck on my shoe. So now I'm worried that I've ruined it.

Okay, trying not to worry. Trying to be happy. Please, beanie, stick, please.

One Two Three

How to drive an infertile woman crazy, in three easy steps:

1. Inject her with enormous amounts of hcG, so that her smallish boobs, which have never ever ever been sore before, are tender and sore just like the boobs of a pregnant woman. Even 14 days after the trigger shot.

2. Have her stick two progesterone bullets a day up her cooter, making her constipated and incredibly sleepy. Again, just like a pregnant woman.

3. Give her a stuffy nose and a vague sense of not feeling well, which could be caused by the cold virus that everyone else she knows has come down with, or, by the fact that she's pregnant.

And that, my muffins, is a recipe for mental disturbances of all kinds, including obsession, depression, and hysteria. These fake symptoms of mine are fucking with my head but good. I really should go into therapy, because I think it would be quite entertaining for the therapist to see me squirm and fret about my quote-unquote symptoms. Yup, quite a show, that.

In Recovery

I'm feeling much better now. Saturday was so hellish. I was gripping onto that ledge so hard, looking down at the ground far far below and wondering how long I could hold on and what falling that far might feel like. But I didn't let go, in part because of you people. I say a little agnostic prayer every day thanking whoever might be listening for the barren bitches who take the time to drop by here and inject light into my dark days. What would I do without you? Thank you.

I really think a lot of the depression came from the hcG, because as it's made its way out of my system, I've been feeling better and better. Today I felt positively chipper, if you can believe that. I went for a long walk (must get this gut under control) and smiled at the sunny sky. What a difference a few days and a few molecules of hcG makes!

I've spent the day enjoying this unexpected sense of gratitude and peace. Who knows how long it will last. Test day is Friday, which might be the first day of a changed life, or might just bring more of the same. I don't know how I'll handle a negative. I think I'll be pretty cracked by it. But I'm trying not to think about it too much, just biding my time, la dee da, trying to stay sane with the help of my beloved blogosphere.

My Own Moat

I  have been in the worst of funks for the past few days. I start crying at all kinds of inopportune moments. My brother recently made me a fantastic mixed CD, and while I was driving to work yesterday, one song made me burst into tears that wouldn't stop for miles. Today I couldn't manage to get out of my pajamas until 4:30. I spent the entire afternoon watching the 1986 miniseries about Anastasia Romanoff, starring the always alluring Amy Irving, and crying at the TV. My husband finally convinced me to leave the house, and suggested we go buy Christmas lights. I agreed, reluctantly, and a few minutes later, he walked in the bedroom and said "get dressed, let's go!" I had made a special effort to get out of my pj's and put on clean sweatpants, and replied "i am dressed. this is as good as it gets. let's go." In this state, I'm lucky I managed to put my own goddamn shoes on without mucking them up with my non-stop tears.

I'm not sure what's going on. Why am I so depressed? Part of it is the progesterone, I guess. Part of it is my dismay at my weight, which is spinning out of control. My gut is fantastically enormous, and to me, all that extra weight feels like failure. And finally, I think this cycle's two-week wait just presses on me too much. I can't take it! For the last two cycles, I was so utterly convinced that it wouldn't work, that the two-week wait was easier to take, in a weird way. But this time, I thought we might actually have a chance, that there might be a positive beta at the end of the wait. Hell, who knows, maybe there still is a chance. It's the not knowing that's killing me. I am a fucking wreck. I'll be lucky tomorrow if I even get out of bed. All I wanted to do today was stay in bed under the covers and cry. That would have been just fine with me, but then my husband would truly have been worried, and I hate to do that to him.

I'm so sick of crying. I'm so fucking tired of feeling like my life is an ongoing crisis over which I have no control. Before infertility, I was never this way. Not even close. I have always been a happy person, determined, focused, and positive. That's just my nature. Or at least it used to be. Now I'm a walking fountain of salty, endless tears. We've decided that if this cycle doesn't work, we'll be taking the next one off for the holidays. I worried about this a lot, because the thought of taking a break made me kind of crazy, but now I'm thinking it's the right decision. If I'm not pregnant, I will welcome the chance to feel even vaguely normal during my favorite time of year. I need that, I think. Because I. am. a. mess.

Yeah, About Those Boobs

So I got all excited (in a cautious infertile kind of way) about my sore boobs, which I still have by the way. Now that I'm on the progesterone bullets, I know I can't trust any symptom I have from now until beta. But you see, my boobs started hurting before I went on the progesterone. "Ha!" I thought, "an authentic symptom!"

Today it occurred to me that I've been injecting an awful lot of drugs lately, and maybe they were responsible for giving me boobs so tender that when my husband hugged me I winced? A quick prowl around the internet taught me that the trigger shot I took last Thursday could very well account for the chest soreness this week. Damn! There goes my gen-yoo-ine symptom.

Just when I thought Hope had snuck in the back door, she goes right back out again. What an alleycat.