So here it is. I got a BFP the other day. My first cycle since Clarence's death. My OB had told me to wait 2 or 3 cycles before TTC again so that my body would have time to heal and there would be less chance of a miscarriage with a future pregnancy. There is some debate in the medical community about if this is really necessary. When we went to meet with the perinatologist to discuss the pathology report from my placenta and the possible causes of Clarence's death this very subject came up. He thought that once my body had it's first cycle that was the go ahead to try again. So I chose to believe what I WANTED to hear. As far as I was concerned we were cleared to try again. I also chose to believe that nothing bad could happen again. Or, I'm not sure I so much chose to believe it as the other words of advice just went in one ear and out the next. Selective memory you might say. I mean, God and fate wouldn't be so cruel, right? Especially since I have a beautiful little girl already, proof that my body was capable of doing this all the way. The right way. So I went into this BFP completely optimistic and astounded @ how blessed I was to be pregnant again so quickly. Jokes began flying between me and my husband again about his super sperm. It is funny how the mind works, isn't it? How could I so quickly forget all the bad I had recently been through?
I woke up the morning of my first OB appointment and decided it would be a wonderful idea to take a pregnancy test. I was so eager to see those two beautiful pink lines again. No sooner had I finished peeing on the stick that I suddenly thought "what if it is negative?" Oh crap! Of course it would be positive, right? I already began to feel sick to my stomach. Three minutes passed and sure enough the line was barely there. I mean BARELY there. Great. I know. I know. It doesn't matter how dark the line is. A line is a line is a line is a line. Right. I know. But I also knew the feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew it was over. Great. Lovely. Perfect. Now I had to sit and wait for the next 3 hours until my OB appointment.
At the OB the test came back negative and as I was talking to the midwife she looked down @ it again and started to see a line. Knocked down....given hope. They used my urine to dip another test. I got dressed (no sense in doing a PAP and first prenatal exam if I wasn't pregnant, right?) and met the midwife outside of the room by the lab. The 2ND test was negative. Knocked down. Whoosh! Kicked in the gut. This couldn't be happening. "This is supposed to be easy for you now after what you have been through" the midwife said. They drew some blood to do a beta test for pregnancy. I wouldn't get the results until the next day. For the second time in a row I left that OB office in despair. I am really starting to not like that place. Understatement. I HATE it. Liza, the midwife, promised to call in the morning with the results.
At this point I am thinking it was a chemical pregnancy. It suddenly smacks me in the face what I had conveniently chosen to forget. The OB said to wait 2 or 3 cycles for this very reason. You would think after losing Clarence I wouldn't be of the "this can't happen to me" mindset anymore. I learned one of the most humbling, horrifying lessons in just how invicible I wasn't. Instead, I had slipped right back into the mentality that I was. Damn!
Liza called the next morning and my beta came back @ 5. On the fence she said. I asked if she thought it could be a chemical pregnancy and she said she wasn't even thinking that yet, that hopefully it was still just too early. She wanted to repeat the beta the next day to check for doubling. Given hope. I rolled over in bed and attempted to go back to sleep. After tossing and turning for a little while I decided to get up. Knocked down. There was no longer any question. The bright red blood was evidence enough. Doubled over. Humbled again.
I should have stayed in bed with hope just a little bit longer. Damn.