This is a sensitive post so please don’t read if your emotional state is crap right now.
I have been getting lines on my home pregnancy tests.
I am a hurricane of emotions and thoughts.
Even though I am technically “p” (I keep seeing WordPress people say they stole this from Mama Jo but I see it literally everywhere, should I credit?) this is not all rainbows and unicorns and this is not a Pregnancy Blog. Being “p” means literally nothing when you’ve been through what I’ve been through.
As with every pregnancy after loss(es), it is a roller coaster ride. For example, right now I am pretty sure I am having cramps. I’ve been checking for blood every time I go to the bathroom for the past three days, swiping over and over like a madwoman. I am amassing a collection of First Response tests (the straight handles are back) to make sure the line is darkening every morning. I am also amassing a pile of Wondfos that are barely registering a second line (wtf?) My husband has been to church twice already this weekend for extra prayers.
So for these reasons, this will be a “p” blog. After I can be (reasonably) assured we are in the clear, after 12 weeks, or a Harmony blood test, or whatever screenings I need done, I won’t be discussing this here. But since this blog is also about recurrent pregnancy loss, and I have been dealt loss after loss and am risk for another, I will be blogging about the next two months of terror.
I have a lot of guilt, mostly self-imposed, like I should have suffered more before getting another positive HPT, or that I have not suffered enough to be rewarded with a take home baby. I am tired of feeling like I haven’t suffered enough. How is it not enough that I went through an ectopic cervical pregnancy that put me in the hospital and literally almost killed me? And that I had a miscarriage at 9 weeks after seeing a heartbeat, plus two chemicals which honestly didn’t feel much better than a miscarriage. It just sounds better. How is that not enough? How is it not enough that I did three full injectable cycles with no hopes of even getting to the next step because my follicles didn’t grow? How is it my fault that I didn’t meet the love of my life until I was 30 years old so I didn’t get to try to get pregnant for 10 miserable years like a badge of honor? We were lucky I suppose to be able to save as much as we could to buy a house in the best school district we could afford, with two empty bedrooms we never can bring ourselves to go in, still partially decorated from the previous owner’s children, with glow in the dark stars on the ceilings and gender binary pink and blue paint. I try to count my blessings but two of my blessings are empty children’s rooms. How blessed am I to see my husband sob with anguish over the possibility of losing this one, too?
But under the terror I am thinking, thank fucking universe that I have working tubes, my husband has good sperm, my uterus likes to implant anything that comes its way (hell even my cervix likes to implant things), and that I ovulated at a normal time this past cycle that allowed this to happen. It’s nice to have a little hope.
And underneath that, I feel a strange confidence that this is the one, this is my baby. I will feel stupid if that proves to be completely untrue, but I can’t shake that feeling that this is it.
How it all went down
After my ovulation spotting (which was so heavy I thought my period was starting early) we stopped having sex, since I thought it was indeed my period, so we missed two fertile days. Then on 7 DPO (days post ovulation) I had spotting. Implantation spotting. I’ve had it twice before and I knew it was too early to be pre-period spotting. My heart was pounding when I saw it.
The morning of 8 DPO I took a Wondfo and saw a faint line. A real squinter. I had to tweak it but I saw the line. I went to work in disbelief. By the time I got home I was convinced it was an evaporation line and that the next test would be negative. As I waited for the test, I spotted another good size quantity of blood. My heart shrank and I said out loud, “Oh no!” But I got a faint line on a First Response. Really heavy implantation bleeding.
I set up a little announcement for my husband (which I did not do the previous three times) and he walked in the door and said, “Are you pregnant?” before he even saw it. I said, “Yes. How did you know?” He said, “I just had a feeling. I had a dream about it the other day.” I started progesterone that night.
The next day I posted a picture of my test to one of my groups, seeking reassurance and validation that I am “p” and should call my RE. I only got a few responses which was strange since most people get dozens, and that made me feel worse (though I am not typically attention seeking) and the “Congratulations!” comments seemed silly. Congratulations on what? Being “p” means literally nothing when you’ve been through what I’ve been through.
Yesterday I messaged my RE to ask for hCG monitoring, and I still have not heard back, which is stressing me out.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been thinking of my friend Melissa saying to me in August, “It must really suck that your body just won’t do what it’s built to do. It must be so frustrating.” I’m not mad at her for that but it was one of the stupidest ways to express her feelings of sympathy toward me. She has never asked me about my fertility, just assumed that since I have troubles there is something my body refuses to do, like get pregnant, or carry a baby, rather than produce quality eggs. And she just assumed her body would do a better job, despite her heavy drinking and smoking, at the age of 36+. It’s strange that my mind has been pulling up this memory a lot for the past few weeks.
For now I am trying the one day at a time method where I try not to think about it much and just enjoy it in the moment.
My blob of cells is due in June.