1,470. I’m really pregnant. That is a doubling time of 31.3 hours. I have an overachiever, it appears. The ultrasound is scheduled for December 18th. I will be 6 weeks 6 days. Deep, slow breaths. I’m going to make it. We are going to make it.
My irascible, squished bladder woke me at 4 am this morning. When I woke up again at 6:30 I peed on another stick. Then this happened:
Because it was so damn dark, I wasn’t really worried about the beta. As it turns out, I shouldn’t be. They just called with the results and my beta is at 508 at 13 DPO. The betabase tells me I’m nearly off the charts for both a single, twin or triplet pregnancy. Holy balls.
(There is no way I am going to google abnormally high betas. Not going to do it.)
My RE is putting me on progesterone injections and suppositories as well as estrogen. Fine by me. Let’s keep this little guy growing until the babe’s placenta can take over. Let’s do this. I’m ready.
And it is ONE. Yep, a one. I am so very grateful that it is less than five, or we would have benched for a cycle. They say ignorance is bliss, but I only find it maddening. We either timed the IUI wrong and I’m not 15 DPO or it was a chemical pregnancy. This would be the cycle where I decided not to chart during the luteal phase to avoid stress [Insert maniacal laughter here.] I’m grateful I can move forward without taking a break. This is a small mercy, granted by the Universe. Now, I just need to get this period started.
RE Nurse: We need to send you over to an OBGYN so they can give you a Rhogam shot.
RE Nurse (on phone): We have a patient here that needs a Rhogam shot. Can we send her over to you?
OBGYN Nurse (on phone): Is she having a miscarriage?
RE Nurse: Yes.
OBGYN Nurse: How has this been confirmed? Hands phone to me.
K: I’ve had six betas, the highest of which peaked at 410. My most recent was 32. I’ve been bleeding for five days. Bright, red blood. The ultrasound at 5 weeks 5 days didn’t show anything in my uterus.
OB Nurse: So this is your first pregnancy?
K: No, this is my second.
OB Nurse: Oh! You have one child?
K: No. I had a miscarriage in March.
OB Nurse: March of 2011?
K: No. March of this year. March 6th.
OB Nurse: And you are having another miscarriage?!
OB Nurse: OK. I think we can see you today. Can you come right over?
OBGYN: So, this is your first pregnancy?
K: No. This is my second.
OBGYN: Oh! You have a child?
K: No. I had a miscarriage in March. I was 9 weeks. They did a D&C and gave me the Rhogam shot.
OBGYN: It really isn’t that common to have back-to-back miscarriages.
(Five percent. Those are the odds. I don’t need you to tell me.)
OBGYN: So. You’ve just been spotting and you think your pregnancy might be at risk?
K: No. I had a miscarriage. This has been confirmed with betas and an ultrasound.
OBGYN: Well. An ultrasound that early may not show anything.
K: No, perhaps not.
(Lady, I’m not fucking pregnant. I understand you must cover your ass, but there isn’t a shot in hell. Did you even glance at the chart?)
OBGYN: You’ve just been spotting?
K: No. I’ve been bleeding since Friday. Bright red blood. Clots. Stringy shit. At this point, the bleeding has tapered off.
OBGYN: Well, was it bleeding like menstruation or spotting?
K: Bleeding like menstruation. Heavier than menstruation.
OBGYN: Oh, that’s too bad. Well now it’s time to do some more testing.
K: Yes. My RE ordered the karyotyping test.
OBGYN: Well, you are young and healthy. It will happen.
Hair Stylist: I love your hair. I was dying my hair bright white like yours, but I stopped.
(Oh, she stopped dying her hair because she’s pregnant. She set the conversation up like this so I will ask her why she stopped bleaching her hair. Everyone thinks that babies are a good conversation for women our age.)
K: Oh? Why did you stop dying it?
Stylist: Well, I found out I was pregnant and I was uncomfortable with all the chemicals necessary to bleach my hair. I thought I would rather be safe than sorry.
(I bet she is due in October when I would have been due.)
K: Congratulations. When is your due date?
Stylist: October 12th. You can’t really tell. I’m not showing yet.
(Right. A due date a couple of days behind me. How many weeks would I have been, 20?)
K: How many weeks are you?
Stylist: Hmm. I dunno. Nineteen or 20?
(That must be nice. You mean you don’t have an internal tracker that ticks the days off as you move towards viability. Huh.)
K: Halfway there. How do you feel?
Stylist: I’ve been pretty sick, but my mum was sick for the entire pregnancy when she had me, so that’s what I think is going to happen. Do you have kids?
Stylist: Oh, do you want kids?
Stylist: Maybe someday? They are a lot of work. This is going to be my only one.
K: Maybe someday.
New readers to my blog have stumbled upon Return to Go at a sad time. I recently found out I was pregnant. Thirteen days ago at 13 DPO, my test turned positive, if ever so faintly. Positive again at 14 DPO, and a little darker. In honor of the pregnancy, I called my RE and scheduled a beta for that day at 15 DPO. The beta was very low at 33, and my heart broke a little bit. Despite the late implantation and the low betas, my numbers continued to rise to 66, 140, and 410 at 17 DPO, 20 DPO, and 24 DPO. This was a doubling time of 48, 66, and 62 hours, respectively. Just this past Saturday, or 25 DPO, I started to spot.
Today brings us to Monday. Twenty-seven days past ovulation and at five weeks five days, my pregnancy test this morning was ridiculously light. Markedly lighter than any test that I have taken in days, if not weeks. I don’t need an ultrasound or a blood test to reveal that this pregnancy isn’t viable. My body has sent me some clear messages. This, in and of itself, is a relief. My first loss was a missed miscarriage at 8 weeks 6 days, and I was shocked at my body’s betrayal. How could it not have told me things weren’t going well? Things are much clearer this time.
Some may say that the cheap internet tests are not reliable. Some may say that 1 out of 3 women spot in pregnancy. It isn’t that uncommon. Some may say that it isn’t over until it is over. But my instincts tell me differently. I would love to be wrong. I would love to be wildly, pessimistically, wrong. My partner and I can laugh about how wrong I was all the way to 40 weeks. We can tell this child about how we doubted it’s perseverance and strength. We can enroll them in martial arts and boxing classes because they were such a fighter en utero. I would love to be wrong, but I don’t think I am.
I’m waiting until 8 am PST to call my doctor. I should know by the end of the day.