Not even sure how to begin this post...it will certainly be one of the toughest posts for me so far. But here it goes:
It's been a long, emotionally exhausting week. On Monday, I realized with some nagging sense that my period was late. I had taken Clomid days 5-9, but besides those days, I hadn't been paying much attention to when my period was due. So Monday, I counted and realized that I was four days late. I am often a couple of days late, so I didn't think too much about it until I noticed that I did not have a single sign that I was getting my period. No hormone headache. No spotting for 3-4 days. No horrid mood swing or depression. So I did what you do...I peed on a stick. I was nervous as I waited, but I didn't hold my breath. I stopped buying pregnancy tests year ago, when they just kept coming back negative. I would wait out the late days knowing that this was just a sick twist of fate. The period would come...it always does.
But it was positive. There is was...a digital test that read "Pregnant".
And in an instant I was struck with amazement and complete fear. I know too much. Any infertile reading this knows what I mean-we know too much. We know the stats, we know our bodies, we know that hope is a nasty four letter word. But I was happy, too, that my body could even get this far. Plus, it was the first time in my life that I had peed on a stick to see a positive. I had joined the club, so to speak.
Remodel Man was speechless and terrified. He instantly turned into Mr. Protector ordering me to take it easy. He was great. He took over Builder Boy responsibilities and some housekeeping so I could just take it easy.
And I did. And I felt like a Princess. And I did what all hopeful people do-I planned in my head. "Now we could move Builder Boy into his big boy room and decorate it just like he wanted. I know it's a girl...I just know it...I will name her (fill in the blank). She will be due on June 27th, one of my best friend's birthdays. I have always wanted to wear summer maternity clothes. Oooo, now my friends can give me their girl clothes. We will have to postpone vacation this year, but who cares...maybe Remodel Man can get that new job and I can quit mine, so we can go in the fall and go somewhere exotic. Oh, to feel the baby move inside me again...what an amazing feeling. And to have Builder Boy be a big brother...to have a sibling to play with and fight with and grow old with...what a blessing. I will finally use that massage certificate to combat those nasty pregnancy headaches. And Remodel Man will finally have the daughter to dance on his feet and walk down the aisle, something he so desperately wants." The list goes on and on.
On Tuesday, we sat down to dinner and Builder Boy, out of the blue, asked us if we were going to have a baby. We had been very secretive and did not discuss it in his presence. We were stunned. When we asked him why he asked that, he said that his best friend had a new little baby. Then said in all his childlike innocence and purity, "What do you think God will give us...a boy or a girl?" It was beautiful and we shamefully took it as a "sign."
On Wednesday, I came home from work with a mild headache of the hormone variety, but blamed it on pregnancy hormones. As the day progressed, the headache became worse and worse and by the evening it was blinding pain.
I knew why. I am not stupid. Hope only takes me so far.
So in the middle of the night after battling heat flashes, cold sweat and a racing heart, the bleeding began. In the course of three short days, we were elated and then crushed. My blood test today came back with an HCG of only 7. The RE said that this was never a viable pregnancy, that it could not have been prevented. And on some level this does make me feel a bit better.
But this sorrow runs deep.