June ICLW and gargoyles

Today my husband and I took an impromptu trip to Oxford, just to escape our worries for a few hours. We took lots of photos as we strolled around the city. I didn't stop thinking about what might be going on inside me but it was a lovely few hours. I did realise, whilst wandering along a cobbled street, that I have done nothing for ICLW this month. This isn't good and I will attempt to rectify my error with gargoyles.



Two and a half weeks ago a doctor placed two perfect embryos into my well prepared uterus. The whole experience was spellbinding and I held out for a staggering six days before I buckled and took a pregnancy test.

Two perfect pink lines popped up. Shocked, I don't know why getting pregnant via IVF is shocking but it is, my husband and I celebrated.



Things started to go a bit wobbly when I couldn't stop myself from peeing on the dreaded sticks. 

The blasted things refused to go darker or to stop fading in and out. 

I wished, hoped and prayed. It didn't help; the darn tests refused to comply. I succumbed to the fear and begged my GP for a blood test.

The result, from a blood sample taken at 13dp5dt, was 81mIU/mL. The doctor said this was low and ordered a second test.

I duly submitted my arm to the phlebotomist fifteen days after our exquisite embryos had entered my uterus.

There was 130mIU/mL of hCG in my blood at 18dp5dt 15dp5dt. This is low, low, low. My GP warned of an ectopic pregnancy and instructed me to call my clinic. My clinic confirmed fears of an ectopic pregnancy, told me what to watch out for and said the hCG was low and slow.

My husband went on an internet rampage and found a chart that we hoped would comfort us.

If you look closely you can see our first blood test just scraped into the minimum acceptable level. However, our second blood test result has fallen off the bottom of the bloomin' scale. The doubling time for my hCG hormone level is 75 hours. Not great. Ideally the hormone should double every 48 hours but anything faster than 72 hours is considered okay.

Recently my husband and I have been doing a lot of this:

It could still all be fine and dandy but it isn't looking likely. So we are still doing this:

Second beta at 15dp5dt - Bugger

Just a quick update. There are no pictures today or silliness about chocolate lollipops.

My beta has gone from 81 on 13dp5dt (18dpo) to 130 on 15dp5dt (20dpo). Those measurements were  over 52 hours apart. My clinic isn’t too hopeful; the lovely people who help me there have gone from being chirpy to gloomy. The clinic and my GP suspect that I might be in possession of an ectopic pregnancy. Quite handily, they have given me a list of warning signs which, if any of them happen, should send me galloping on over to my local hospital. I will have another beta on Monday and, if I make it, a scan next Friday. There is a small chance that this pregnancy will work out but you'd really need a high powered microscope to see it now. I am clinging on to that small shred of hope. I want to keep my diamond, dammit.

Pregnant? Yes, just a little bit.

It was supposed to reassure me and make it all crystal clear. A blood test would tell me if this was going to be okay. However, the universe looked at my plans, took a deep breath and laughed in my face. A huge great belly busting shriek of a laugh.


My blood test results are back. I am pregnant. No doubt about it. This is good, right? It's what I wanted, right? Achieving pregnancy is the first step on the winding, probably uphill, road to reach this:




 My beta-hCG result is 81 mIU/mL at 13dp5dt (or 18 days past ovulation).


That is not a sparkly, glittery or exhilarating number. That, my friends, is a number that is an excruciatingly low, frighteningly poor number. It is the type of number that could mean this pregnancy is going nowhere fast. My GP was kind but not thoughtful; beginning the conversation by asking if I was bleeding wasn't going to make me feel at ease or anticipate good news. In fact, it was blanket hiding time again.




How did I react to this agonising news? I scoffed my way through a bag of chocolate lollipops, a chocolate bar and a coffee, and not the decaff stuff either. I know, I know, I am wild and reckless. However, that was only stage one of post-beta meltdown.


Stage two involved trawling the internet, until my bum went numb, searching for success stories. As the pages loaded in front of me, the steaming pile of crap got higher and higher. I waded through the mountain of misery, reading about loss after loss, miscarriage after miscarriage, and then, I saw it, just poking out of the top of the mountain of soggy, stinking dung: a diamond. My eyes focused on the gleaming words. It happened, it was real. Someone out there had the same dismal number as me and won. For a while, all I could see was the sparkling gem of hope. Now, I can still see the shit but I am holding tightly onto my nugget of faith.


Stage three comprised of flicking through  the maternity wardrobe of Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge. Not literally, obviously, but courtesy of Go Fug Yourself. I don't know why I choose to punch myself in the gut quite so hard. I felt better when I remembered that she had married into the royal family and all the beautiful bump flattering clothes in the world can't make up for that.


So what have I learnt today:

• I'm pregnant but probably possibly won't stay that way
• Sometimes people beat the odds
• Eating chocolate on sticks is highly enjoyable
• Kate Middleton is a beautiful pregnant lady
• I'm not feeling creative and am resorting to recycling pictures

I had another blood test today and, hopefully, I will get the results tomorrow.


I thought I would leave you all with a very special treat:



Source

Am I? I think I am.

This week has been, as I suspected it would be, utterly crazy. Pregnancy tests suck! I hate them, I hate them, I hate them. Ahhh....that's better.  

I didn't wait until Friday to test; I didn't make it until Thursday or even Wednesday. By the time Monday turned up I was already clinging on to the last shreds of my very fragile mind. I didn't want to break but how could I resist? I needed to know. The agony of being so close to pregnancy was driving me insane, really it was climbing the walls time; it was also torturing my husband. We went back and forth. Shall we? No let's not. It won't hurt. No we can't. Eventually, on Tuesday, we flipped a coin. Heads I test, tails I don't. The coin spun in the air, landed on my hand and I peeked. Tails! Arrggghhh. Not tails, surely!?! That was it. Our will was broken.


I unwrapped that first magic stick and let the urine flow. Had I drunk too much? Not enough? Was it too early? Should I wait to use my morning wee? Too late, the stick was soaked. Placing the test face down on our dining room table, we waited. Three agonising minutes passed. We couldn't look, we held each other and then we saw this:

It wasn't the darkest line in the world but, look, there's definitely a second line.


We went to bed happy. Oh so very happy. My mind was filled with bliss, until the next morning when I decided, as you do, that one test wasn't enough to keep me going and I got slapped round the face with this little beast:

 

 

Yes, you're right, the second line has vanished. What on earth did that mean? Was I pregnant or not?

 

 

Life was not fun that day. The birds weren't singing and the sun didn't shine. I couldn't wait to get home and pee, and pee I most certainly did; this is what we saw:

 

 

 

 

 

Yipee! Oh, do pardon the pee pun. The second line returned. We could be happy again. We chatted joyfully about how it would finally be our turn for a little one. Until, of course, I lost my shit and went for another test and then, because I am a lunatic, another. I don't know how anyone stops at one. Good Lord, I admire you solo testers. To me pregnancy tests have the same allure as heroine does to the most drug addled junkie. In case you haven't guessed, and I imagine it's the same for any addict, the fix did not make me smile; we got these suckers:

 

 

 

 

The lighting is a little different but the story is the same. The final test was lighter than the previous one. What the crappity crap does that mean? Can you get pregnant, a smidgen more pregnant and then less pregnant again? Since that fateful evening there have been two more tests and they don't seem to be progressing in the way any IVF survivor would be proud of. 

 



 

 

 

I'm not an expert, not in anyone's book, but several hours of scouring the Internet makes me believe that something isn't quite right here. Tests shouldn't fade in and out, and by 11pd5dt, or sixteen days past ovulation if you prefer, the test line should be jumping right out of that oval window; it shouldn't pale into insignificance in comparison to the control line.

 

 

I am trying to remain hopeful, optimistic and bright. I mean, I've got two lines on a test so why am I even complaining? How ridiculous that I am not shouting "yay! yay! yay!" but instead I am whimpering over relative densities.

 

 

Maybe it's all okay. Maybe my embryos are just slow starters. Who knows? I heard on the pregnancy grapevine that sometimes test lines can be stubborn and refuse to pop out as quickly as you'd wish.

 

 

Tomorrow is my official test day and I will, once again, be peeing on one of those little devils but this time I can actually tell my clinic I have done so. I will also have to admit that I have been testing for some time now and that I am going berserk. I have no idea what they will say or do about my woes. Under normal circumstances - I think we have established these aren't normal circumstances - the lovely receptionist would book me an appointment for my seven week scan but, holy cow, I can't wait three more agonising weeks.

 

 

When I wake tomorrow, assuming I sleep at all tonight, I will also call my GP and beg her to do sequential blood pregnancy tests (betas) to see if the pregnancy hormone is doubling normally. My GP's practice is terrifyingly tight-fisted. The doctors there are so mean they point blank refuse to write a prescription for more than four weeks' worth of medication at a time, even if you need the meds permanently. If they cast me aside when I fall on my knees and cry for help, which is certainly possible, I am going to resort to begging the lovely doctors who took care of my first pregnancy to save me from despair. They made the foolish mistake of writing us a kind letter to let us know that nothing would be too much trouble if I ever got pregnant again.

 

 

One more thing, just before I sign off and while I have your attention: I am developing a constant pain on my right side just under my bikini line. Anyone know if that's not something to go a little bit mental about?

 

 

If you do have any answers, advice or any knowledge at all, please share. There's a handy comment box below to write out all your thoughts.