In August, I got my period and shortly after that, because I was feeling weird, I tested and got a positive on a home pregnancy test. Given the circumstances (being that you shouldn't get your period if you are in fact knocked up) I had a pretty good idea that this was not going to have a happy ending. That's not to say that I had no hope. Some women do bleed early in pregnancy and go on to have a healthy baby, so I held on to a small shred of 'maybe'.
A couple of blood tests soon made it apparent that I would not be one of the lucky ones. There was a small rise, followed by a fall and it was decided that my previously scheduled hysteroscopy and d&c would proceed as planned. Fortunately, that procedure was performed under general anaesthetic so as far as I was concerned, it was really just a very good nap. When I came to, the doctor told me that everything appeared normal and that some tissue had been taken for testing. He gave me a prescription for antibiotics and a requisition for yet another blood test. The Boy took me home and made sure I was comfy and well fed.
Fast forward to today. The clinic called with the results of my last blood test following my fun filled afternoon at the hospital - the numbers went up. WTF, Universe? Granted, they only went up a smidge but an increase is definitely not what I was expecting or hoping for. Since the doctor told me that the results of the biopsy indicated no evidence of a uterine pregnancy, the numbers can only mean that I have an ectopic pregnancy. Fortunately, with the numbers being so low, he expects that it will 'resolve itself'. To be on the safe side, I have to go for another (*#$%@) blood test on Monday and an ultrasound the following day. I'm keeping my fingers and toes crossed that the hCG in my system bottoms out by test time on Monday. If it doesn't, I have to look at the possibility of surgery or harsh drugs to finish the job. I'd like to avoid either of those things.
So, that's what my body is doing. Mentally and emotionally, I've parcelled everything up and am keeping it all locked away in a little tiny room. I've had a couple of moments of almost tears but I'm refusing to give in to them. Sounds healthy, no? It's just easier right now to remain detached. As I told the buddy group I belong to online, this poor little ball of cells is already being treated like the middle child - it's not getting nearly the same amount of attention as Ball of Cells #1 did.
Perhaps my sense of humour is dark but I feel fortunate that I still have the ability to laugh in the face of this. What else can I do? If I were to lay out before me all of the feelings and thoughts surrounding this experience and the previous one I would be consumed by rage and devastated by sadness. Instead I choose to stand back and not get too close to all of that. I choose to survive it and push through. I choose to not let the Universe win.
If I'm anything (besides infertile, of course! ha ha!) I'm stubborn. If it takes me another 20 years and I become a creepy granny aged woman having her first baby, I will do it. I said in my previous post that infertility is kicking my ass - well, screw that. It's my turn to kick back and I plan to do a wicked Chuck Norris style roundhouse on infertility. Be afraid, Universe. I'm coming for you.
