The waiting that comes after a positive blood result is even more terrifying. Because my initial beta draw was on a Friday I had to wait until Monday for a repeat beta. Okay, that wasn't a big deal. Not even I want to drag my butt out of bed on a Sunday morning at 6:15am to be at the lab so I can get results back on the same day. Monday we went for a repeat beta which was good. Betas generally give most folks some form of comfort. They don't really do that for me. I've had three m/c. All with appropriately rising betas. But it doubled. My progesterone was a little on the low side so they added prometrium and I've been doing five pills, one injection, and two suppositories a day for a few weeks now. The waiting for that first u/s is hard. I honestly think it's worse than the actual 2WW. We've been here too many times before. The anticipation building. Knowing what we expect to see only to be disappointed. My last miscarriage dragged on for weeks before throwing in the towel. Equipped now with more knowledge I felt with some surety that the disaster that was my previous pregnancy would not be a reoccurring situation. This was complicated slightly given that we had travel plans for the week that my first u/s would normally be scheduled. But there again with that handy dandy knowledge. Beta 10dp6dt was 79. Beta 13dp6dt was 317. And beta the Thursday before we departed should have somewhere in the neighborhood of 13000. Heartbeat should be visible when beta reaches 6000 So I felt justified in begging them to allow me to have my u/s before our Pittsburgh trip.
All of those same feelings that preceded my beta returned. In full force. After the transfer I was full of hope and optimism. As beta day drew nearer, the optimism was sucked out of me only to be replaced with the worst defense mechanism ever...pessimism. Then, upon receiving the joyous news, the cycle begins all over again. We were filled again with hope and optimism. And then it starts to fade as the reality that the rug can be pulled from under us at any time sets in. This time however, Paul was nervous too. I could have scheduled first thing in the morning but Paul wasn't flying in until the afternoon so I waited for him. I begged my mother to let me call and reschedule the appointment and lie to him, telling him that the office needed to reschedule. She didn't approve. Yes. I know it's mean. He's just as much a part of this as I am. But again, I felt the same way I did as the day of my beta. If the news is bad, I want to be alone. All alone. To deal in peace and quiet. I didn't. We waited until our appointment and walked in and took our seats. Every minute of waiting seems like torture. Fortunately they never torture us for very long. Now, because my previous pregnancies were not under the care of an RE I was used to being sent to an radiology tech for an u/s. And so far, I've not been impressed. They take forever. They can't diagnose anything and they won't ever talk to me. I know. I know. Liability. They're not doctors. They're techs. Blah. Blah. Blah. I've just become a little spoiled. But for this u/s things were instantaneous. Immediately, the doctor utters, "And we have one perfect heartbeat." The relief was immeasurable. Every previous u/s I've gotten the, "well it's not what we'd like to be seeing but it may still turn around..." It never did. And we never saw a heartbeat but this...this was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. He turned the screen around and pointed to the tiniest little flickering dot. And my eyes filled with tears. He turns to answer a few of Paul's questions and I continue watching the screen. Suddenly there is no more flickering. I interrupt them, and in a complete panic, blurt out, "Excuse me, but did my baby just die? The screen...It's no longer flickering." They both laughed at me. I can't really blame them. I was just too preoccupied to notice the doctor printing out copies of the u/s which in turn froze the screen. He was kind enough to make it go live again. I was sent away with an appointment to return again in two weeks and with hope renewed once more.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
By tomorrow, I meant at the end of the month
I'm sorry. I've been here waiting for the other shoe to drop. It hasn't. So, I think it's time for an update. The 2WW was harrowing. It always is, isn't it? And given that we ended up doing IVF I really believe there was a greater purpose in doing years and years of natural cycles and wasting time on IUIs. And I believe that purpose was to teach me to how to deal with the 2WW.
The first week wasn't so bad. We were busy. At this point, because it's been nearly a month, I don't remember the specifics of what we were doing. Oh wait...yes I do. And I've blocked it. We were preparing for the most obnoxious Enrichment Activity ever! For those who are not LDS, it was a church thing. We were preparing 72 hour kits for use during emergencies. And I got stuck with...uhh, I mean volunteered for the hygiene kits. And people signed up for 175 kits. And in the days after my embryo transfer when I was supposed to be on bedrest, Paul went to every WalMart, Target, Walgreens, and a few others to purchase supplies for the blessed activity to the tune of $1100. And then we assembled. It was ugly. You can see why I blocked it. Paul deserves the husband of the year award for this alone. It was my responsibility and I neglected it because it was annoying. And because I hate Enrichment. And he took care of everything. Seriously, husband of the year should go to Paul. You have no idea. This wasn't supposed to be an Enrichment rant, so I'll stop now. And after the Enrichment stuff I don't really remember what we did for the next few days.
But then Paul had to leave town. And things got a little hairier after that. First of all, on Sunday, I gagged while brushing my teeth. You see, these are the evils of the 2WW. Suddenly, we want to give meaning to each and every symptom, if you can even call them symptoms, our body creates. Or rather, the hormones that we are being pumped with makes. I never gag while brushing my teeth. I had braces for five years. And very painful oral surgery. Things in my mouth don't make me gag. Ever. Except for the Sunday prior to my beta. Now, my beta was on Friday so this is still quite a bit of time to go still. And hope began to creep in. Now, I should mention that the 2WW crazies were multiplied a bit. A friend cycled with me, and her beta was the same day as mine. And we fed off of each other. But I would like it noted for the read that she caved and POAS earlier than I did. She did it on Monday. And I didn't do it until Tuesday. And as a result after Tuesday I felt like garbage because it was glaringly negative. It was too early. And for crying out loud, I know better. Wednesday we went to Hobbs to return only to return late Thursday night. And I spent the better part of the next two days losing all hope. We were driving back into town on Thursday night at midnight when I insisted that he take me to WalMart for some more of the evil pee sticks. Because apparently I don't torture myself enough. And even though, I should have been exhausted enough to sleep for two days, I couldn't sleep.
There is a scene in "Sex and the City" where Carrie is anticipating her big first date with Berger. And she says to one of the girls, "I think we're going to be very happy together." She then follows that statement with, "I love that time before the first date, when you can make statements like that and almost believe them." This is how most of the 2WW felt. In fact, my whole cycle felt like that. The hope that builds is a strange thing. You don't even realize how much it's growing until it's almost over. And I've never felt such desperation in my entire life. Pleading with the powers that be to not let my dream die. There was no way this was going to work. Why would it? Certainly others are more deserving than I. It was like I was just sitting, waiting, and forced to watch the death of the most pure, righteous wish I've ever had. So sleep eluded me. I won't ever forget the feeling of anxiety that I had prior to my beta.
I slept lightly. Again, a huge rarity for me. And woke promptly at 6:45am without an alarm. I crept into the living room where the WalMart bag had been dropped and dug out the box. Like the eternal pessimist that I am, I had purchased the three pack. I always do. I know they'll get used. And somehow my trembling hands managed to open the box and tear the package all without waking Paul. I needed to deal with the BFN that I was forecasting for myself. All alone. I certainly couldn't do it on the phone when the nurse calls to deliver the news. I was able to do that with my IUIs but this time the stakes were so much higher. So I sat in my bathroom wide awake staring at the wall for the obligatory two minutes to pass. And much to my shock, when I turned to accept defeat and failure once again, there were two lines. Two glorious lines staring back up at me. There are those that have been tortured by the evil HPT's. This day, it couldn't have been clearer. There was no denying it. It wasn't an evaporation line. It wasn't a ghost line that faded later. It was a real true second line. I can't begin to describe the surprise so, I won't even try. I crept back into bed, cuddled around Paul, and whispered to ask if he was yet awake. There is something magical about telling your spouse that you're pregnant. And I'll save the details. They're too raw and too personal to share but I can count the times on one hand I've ever felt such joy.
We ran into the lab for bloodwork and sat to wait again. What would the bloodwork reveal? All hopes now are for a strong beta. The call came at 11:26am. It was Trish. I was nervous. My heart was pounding. And there was too much of an echo. Until I realized that the whole office staff had been gathered to call me so they could all congratulate me. It was another powerful, wonderful moment. I love my RE's office. They've held my hand. And listened to me cry. And explained procedures. And they called to deliver the good news about a strong beta of 79. Relief washed over me.
The journey begins...
The first week wasn't so bad. We were busy. At this point, because it's been nearly a month, I don't remember the specifics of what we were doing. Oh wait...yes I do. And I've blocked it. We were preparing for the most obnoxious Enrichment Activity ever! For those who are not LDS, it was a church thing. We were preparing 72 hour kits for use during emergencies. And I got stuck with...uhh, I mean volunteered for the hygiene kits. And people signed up for 175 kits. And in the days after my embryo transfer when I was supposed to be on bedrest, Paul went to every WalMart, Target, Walgreens, and a few others to purchase supplies for the blessed activity to the tune of $1100. And then we assembled. It was ugly. You can see why I blocked it. Paul deserves the husband of the year award for this alone. It was my responsibility and I neglected it because it was annoying. And because I hate Enrichment. And he took care of everything. Seriously, husband of the year should go to Paul. You have no idea. This wasn't supposed to be an Enrichment rant, so I'll stop now. And after the Enrichment stuff I don't really remember what we did for the next few days.
But then Paul had to leave town. And things got a little hairier after that. First of all, on Sunday, I gagged while brushing my teeth. You see, these are the evils of the 2WW. Suddenly, we want to give meaning to each and every symptom, if you can even call them symptoms, our body creates. Or rather, the hormones that we are being pumped with makes. I never gag while brushing my teeth. I had braces for five years. And very painful oral surgery. Things in my mouth don't make me gag. Ever. Except for the Sunday prior to my beta. Now, my beta was on Friday so this is still quite a bit of time to go still. And hope began to creep in. Now, I should mention that the 2WW crazies were multiplied a bit. A friend cycled with me, and her beta was the same day as mine. And we fed off of each other. But I would like it noted for the read that she caved and POAS earlier than I did. She did it on Monday. And I didn't do it until Tuesday. And as a result after Tuesday I felt like garbage because it was glaringly negative. It was too early. And for crying out loud, I know better. Wednesday we went to Hobbs to return only to return late Thursday night. And I spent the better part of the next two days losing all hope. We were driving back into town on Thursday night at midnight when I insisted that he take me to WalMart for some more of the evil pee sticks. Because apparently I don't torture myself enough. And even though, I should have been exhausted enough to sleep for two days, I couldn't sleep.
There is a scene in "Sex and the City" where Carrie is anticipating her big first date with Berger. And she says to one of the girls, "I think we're going to be very happy together." She then follows that statement with, "I love that time before the first date, when you can make statements like that and almost believe them." This is how most of the 2WW felt. In fact, my whole cycle felt like that. The hope that builds is a strange thing. You don't even realize how much it's growing until it's almost over. And I've never felt such desperation in my entire life. Pleading with the powers that be to not let my dream die. There was no way this was going to work. Why would it? Certainly others are more deserving than I. It was like I was just sitting, waiting, and forced to watch the death of the most pure, righteous wish I've ever had. So sleep eluded me. I won't ever forget the feeling of anxiety that I had prior to my beta.
I slept lightly. Again, a huge rarity for me. And woke promptly at 6:45am without an alarm. I crept into the living room where the WalMart bag had been dropped and dug out the box. Like the eternal pessimist that I am, I had purchased the three pack. I always do. I know they'll get used. And somehow my trembling hands managed to open the box and tear the package all without waking Paul. I needed to deal with the BFN that I was forecasting for myself. All alone. I certainly couldn't do it on the phone when the nurse calls to deliver the news. I was able to do that with my IUIs but this time the stakes were so much higher. So I sat in my bathroom wide awake staring at the wall for the obligatory two minutes to pass. And much to my shock, when I turned to accept defeat and failure once again, there were two lines. Two glorious lines staring back up at me. There are those that have been tortured by the evil HPT's. This day, it couldn't have been clearer. There was no denying it. It wasn't an evaporation line. It wasn't a ghost line that faded later. It was a real true second line. I can't begin to describe the surprise so, I won't even try. I crept back into bed, cuddled around Paul, and whispered to ask if he was yet awake. There is something magical about telling your spouse that you're pregnant. And I'll save the details. They're too raw and too personal to share but I can count the times on one hand I've ever felt such joy.
We ran into the lab for bloodwork and sat to wait again. What would the bloodwork reveal? All hopes now are for a strong beta. The call came at 11:26am. It was Trish. I was nervous. My heart was pounding. And there was too much of an echo. Until I realized that the whole office staff had been gathered to call me so they could all congratulate me. It was another powerful, wonderful moment. I love my RE's office. They've held my hand. And listened to me cry. And explained procedures. And they called to deliver the good news about a strong beta of 79. Relief washed over me.
The journey begins...
Monday, October 1, 2007
Time with Melba
Yes, I'm one of the strange people that names their belongings. Melba is my computer you see. Violet is my violin. Trixie is my car. I spend far too much time with Melba as it is. And as a result I have a husband that can get a little jealous of her. And we're extraordinarily busy but I'll get to that in a minute.
I suppose I ought to record the events of my embryo transfer. It was harrowing. I've never been one to have a great deal of bladder control. I try not to stray far from a clean restroom at any given time. And I worried and fretted about this embryo transfer. My clinic does an ultrasound guided transfer. In order to do an ultrasound and be able to see my uterus they need my bladder to be filled with liquid. And so I fretted. I was instructed to drink 32 ounces of fluid a half hour before my appointment. I got about 24 ounces in before I was full. I hoped that this would be good enough. We got to the doctors office and it wasn't long before we were called back.
Now, if you will humor me as I reminisce a bit about my wedding day. I am normally an outgoing, chipper person. I am bubbly and can be quite talkative. I had worked quite a bit with my favorite makeup girl, Teri and she and I had seen lots of each other prior to my wedding day. And when we had meetings I would entertain her with the latest wedding planning drama, tales about my infamous MIL etc. And then the day of my wedding day arrived. And my appointment was for ten am. And I walked in quietly and said hello and sat in my chair. And Teri attempted to make small talk with me but I really wasn't into it. I sat there and quietly smiled. Nodded where appropriate. And when she was done, I thanked her and got up and left. I was by no means rude but I was certainly not quite myself. Teri later told me that she was afraid I was going to freak out or blow up or fly off the handle or whatever else one does when losing it. I wasn't. I was eerily calm. The gravity of the day was weighing heavily upon me as I considered what we were embarking on. I was only 21 when we got married and I, by no means understood what all marriage would entail but I understood that this was a magnificent and grave undertaking. And all of the nonsense that I am usually yammering on about was on the back burner. It was replaced with a calm reverence worthy of such an important day.
I expected that same quiet serenity to exist for my embryo transfer. It didn't. It's difficult to be that tranquil when you want to do the pee-pee dance. I was antsy. Once brought back to the transfer room, I laid down and one of the techs did a quick ultrasound. She deemed that I had enough fluid in my bladder. Dr Caperton was called in. He didn't agree. Water was brought. I drank. I nearly cried. Another ultrasound was done. Another assessment of not enough water. I did cry. I didn't cry much. The longer we wait the more uncomfortable this is going to be. I drank again. And it was awful. My embryo transfer was supposed to be at 2:30pm. It was now 3:15pm. I needed to go when we arrived at 2:15pm and it has been an hour. I wasn't comfortable. I had one nurse, two techs and Paul in the room all the time. Another nurse, my favorite receptionist and my doctor floating in and out. It's hard to exist in a state of peace and quiet when you feel like your room is a train station. I wanted everyone out! But it's only now that I realize this. Hmmm, remember this moment. It may come in useful later. Finally, after ultrasound number 3 it was agreed upon that I was ready for the transfer. Speculum in. Lots of pressure. Catheter in. More pressure. Mike, the embryologist is waiting in the doorway. It's almost time. And I start to panic. I've needed to go for over an hour now and they are pressing on my bladder. I begin to whimper. Paul looks at me and tells me that I can do it. But I know better. I tell them I can't do it. They assure me we're so close to being done. Paul tells me I can do it. I am trying desperately not to move. I am clenching my gown. I am digging my nails into my arms. And then I heard Dr Caperton say, "Mike, go put the embryos away. She's urinating." The pressure was relieved. The ultrasound probe was removed from my belly and it was the most welcome feeling I've ever felt. And then the shame set it. The nurse got me up from the table and walked me to the restroom. I cried all the way there. As we were leaving the room, Dr Caperton called out to only empty my bladder a little. Just enough to create relief. Sure. Relief. The only thing that was going to grant me relief was an empty bladder. Have you any idea how difficult it is to stop urinating mid-stream? It isn't easy, I assure you. Somehow I managed. A few more tears and back up onto the table I went. Mumbled out apologies to my doctor. And tried to calm down. Calmness still eludes me as I still have to pee. I'm so embarrassed I want to crawl under a rock and die. And now I'm starting to freak out. The heavy panicked breathing. I just want to escape. I can't do it. Paul wouldn't quit talking to me. The doctor is still telling me to sit still and quit squirming. I still have to pee. I've failed at round one and I am creating failure for round two. I know that I just won't be able to do it. I order them to take everything out of me. I am practically shouting at everyone. They are trying to calm me down but only one person in the whole world has ever been successful at calming me down and it's just not appropriate to bring your dad to your embryo transfer. Dr Caperton tells me that he'll be able to be done within two minutes if I can just hang on. I start to whimper that I can but back down and tell him he needs to get everything out of me. NOW! He heaved a big heavy sigh and agreed. Poor Mike is once again sent back to the lab with the embryos. I couldn't have the babies enter me like that. It's like trying to have sex when you're angry. Trying to get pregnant while having an anxiety attack just didn't feel right. Back to the restroom we go. This time I'm instructed to just empty my bladder. He tells me as I'm leaving that we'll just figure things out. How I don't know but he seems confident. Which begs the question if he can do this without torturing me why has he put me through this. I don't know and at this point I don't much care. More crying and are we really surprised? Back again up on the table and I just sort of went somewhere. I don't really know where. No longer having to pee, I laid on the table and let my body go limp. I don't really remember much of the transfer. I looked to the side and didn't acknowledge anyone. Not Paul. And only barely responsive to Dr Caperton and the nurse. I responded to their instructions but didn't give any indication other than my obedience. It really was over pretty quickly. The embryos were brought in. There was much concentration and some tension but I felt very removed from it. Once again everything was removed and blankets were laid over me and I was instructed to lie perfectly still for ten minutes. Easy enough. I think Paul felt a little abandoned because I still didn't want to talk much so we sat mostly in silence with me occasionally turning around to glare at him when he asked me for the 18th time in 60 seconds how I was feeling. I know. I can be be a talker but please sometimes silence is golden. It really is. Especially when I'm newly pregnant. We went from an exam room that felt like a train station to an exam room that felt like a quiet empty church in the space of two minutes. After the obligatory ten minutes were up I was excused to the restroom once more and then we were sent home. We arrived at the RE's office a few minutes after 2pm and we left almost three hours later. We were walking out the door at ten minutes to five. They all congregated around the front desk, reminded me that at that one moment in time that I was indeed pregnant, to adhere to my bedrest and wished me luck. Beta was scheduled for 9/28. I hate the 2WW. But it's a necessary beastly process when one is TTC. And then we were sent home to wait. The transfer certainly didn't go as planned but I felt better than my embryos came home into a non-clenched happy uterus rather than a stressed and constricted one. And then we waited.
More time with Melba tomorrow.
I suppose I ought to record the events of my embryo transfer. It was harrowing. I've never been one to have a great deal of bladder control. I try not to stray far from a clean restroom at any given time. And I worried and fretted about this embryo transfer. My clinic does an ultrasound guided transfer. In order to do an ultrasound and be able to see my uterus they need my bladder to be filled with liquid. And so I fretted. I was instructed to drink 32 ounces of fluid a half hour before my appointment. I got about 24 ounces in before I was full. I hoped that this would be good enough. We got to the doctors office and it wasn't long before we were called back.
Now, if you will humor me as I reminisce a bit about my wedding day. I am normally an outgoing, chipper person. I am bubbly and can be quite talkative. I had worked quite a bit with my favorite makeup girl, Teri and she and I had seen lots of each other prior to my wedding day. And when we had meetings I would entertain her with the latest wedding planning drama, tales about my infamous MIL etc. And then the day of my wedding day arrived. And my appointment was for ten am. And I walked in quietly and said hello and sat in my chair. And Teri attempted to make small talk with me but I really wasn't into it. I sat there and quietly smiled. Nodded where appropriate. And when she was done, I thanked her and got up and left. I was by no means rude but I was certainly not quite myself. Teri later told me that she was afraid I was going to freak out or blow up or fly off the handle or whatever else one does when losing it. I wasn't. I was eerily calm. The gravity of the day was weighing heavily upon me as I considered what we were embarking on. I was only 21 when we got married and I, by no means understood what all marriage would entail but I understood that this was a magnificent and grave undertaking. And all of the nonsense that I am usually yammering on about was on the back burner. It was replaced with a calm reverence worthy of such an important day.
I expected that same quiet serenity to exist for my embryo transfer. It didn't. It's difficult to be that tranquil when you want to do the pee-pee dance. I was antsy. Once brought back to the transfer room, I laid down and one of the techs did a quick ultrasound. She deemed that I had enough fluid in my bladder. Dr Caperton was called in. He didn't agree. Water was brought. I drank. I nearly cried. Another ultrasound was done. Another assessment of not enough water. I did cry. I didn't cry much. The longer we wait the more uncomfortable this is going to be. I drank again. And it was awful. My embryo transfer was supposed to be at 2:30pm. It was now 3:15pm. I needed to go when we arrived at 2:15pm and it has been an hour. I wasn't comfortable. I had one nurse, two techs and Paul in the room all the time. Another nurse, my favorite receptionist and my doctor floating in and out. It's hard to exist in a state of peace and quiet when you feel like your room is a train station. I wanted everyone out! But it's only now that I realize this. Hmmm, remember this moment. It may come in useful later. Finally, after ultrasound number 3 it was agreed upon that I was ready for the transfer. Speculum in. Lots of pressure. Catheter in. More pressure. Mike, the embryologist is waiting in the doorway. It's almost time. And I start to panic. I've needed to go for over an hour now and they are pressing on my bladder. I begin to whimper. Paul looks at me and tells me that I can do it. But I know better. I tell them I can't do it. They assure me we're so close to being done. Paul tells me I can do it. I am trying desperately not to move. I am clenching my gown. I am digging my nails into my arms. And then I heard Dr Caperton say, "Mike, go put the embryos away. She's urinating." The pressure was relieved. The ultrasound probe was removed from my belly and it was the most welcome feeling I've ever felt. And then the shame set it. The nurse got me up from the table and walked me to the restroom. I cried all the way there. As we were leaving the room, Dr Caperton called out to only empty my bladder a little. Just enough to create relief. Sure. Relief. The only thing that was going to grant me relief was an empty bladder. Have you any idea how difficult it is to stop urinating mid-stream? It isn't easy, I assure you. Somehow I managed. A few more tears and back up onto the table I went. Mumbled out apologies to my doctor. And tried to calm down. Calmness still eludes me as I still have to pee. I'm so embarrassed I want to crawl under a rock and die. And now I'm starting to freak out. The heavy panicked breathing. I just want to escape. I can't do it. Paul wouldn't quit talking to me. The doctor is still telling me to sit still and quit squirming. I still have to pee. I've failed at round one and I am creating failure for round two. I know that I just won't be able to do it. I order them to take everything out of me. I am practically shouting at everyone. They are trying to calm me down but only one person in the whole world has ever been successful at calming me down and it's just not appropriate to bring your dad to your embryo transfer. Dr Caperton tells me that he'll be able to be done within two minutes if I can just hang on. I start to whimper that I can but back down and tell him he needs to get everything out of me. NOW! He heaved a big heavy sigh and agreed. Poor Mike is once again sent back to the lab with the embryos. I couldn't have the babies enter me like that. It's like trying to have sex when you're angry. Trying to get pregnant while having an anxiety attack just didn't feel right. Back to the restroom we go. This time I'm instructed to just empty my bladder. He tells me as I'm leaving that we'll just figure things out. How I don't know but he seems confident. Which begs the question if he can do this without torturing me why has he put me through this. I don't know and at this point I don't much care. More crying and are we really surprised? Back again up on the table and I just sort of went somewhere. I don't really know where. No longer having to pee, I laid on the table and let my body go limp. I don't really remember much of the transfer. I looked to the side and didn't acknowledge anyone. Not Paul. And only barely responsive to Dr Caperton and the nurse. I responded to their instructions but didn't give any indication other than my obedience. It really was over pretty quickly. The embryos were brought in. There was much concentration and some tension but I felt very removed from it. Once again everything was removed and blankets were laid over me and I was instructed to lie perfectly still for ten minutes. Easy enough. I think Paul felt a little abandoned because I still didn't want to talk much so we sat mostly in silence with me occasionally turning around to glare at him when he asked me for the 18th time in 60 seconds how I was feeling. I know. I can be be a talker but please sometimes silence is golden. It really is. Especially when I'm newly pregnant. We went from an exam room that felt like a train station to an exam room that felt like a quiet empty church in the space of two minutes. After the obligatory ten minutes were up I was excused to the restroom once more and then we were sent home. We arrived at the RE's office a few minutes after 2pm and we left almost three hours later. We were walking out the door at ten minutes to five. They all congregated around the front desk, reminded me that at that one moment in time that I was indeed pregnant, to adhere to my bedrest and wished me luck. Beta was scheduled for 9/28. I hate the 2WW. But it's a necessary beastly process when one is TTC. And then we were sent home to wait. The transfer certainly didn't go as planned but I felt better than my embryos came home into a non-clenched happy uterus rather than a stressed and constricted one. And then we waited.
More time with Melba tomorrow.
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