Don't read this if you are having a bad day. Go and do something nice for yourself. Blogs are always around, they don't often disappear.
Thank you to everyone who has left me encouraging comments and to those who sent me an email over these past few weeks when I have been so absent. I have been so touched by people half-way across the world (or the country) who were thinking of me.
A while back I looked at my blog list and EVERYONE, well it seemed like everyone, let's say 80% of it was pregnant and I couldn't believe it. Pregnancy announcement in the infertile blogosphere are like dewdrops on spiderwebs in the grass, so beautiful and yet so tenuous a smile slowly makes its way across your face as you hold your breath because you want everything to stay exactly as it is in this moment, you want everything to turn out right. And at the same time as I was feeling this, I felt like the wicked witch of the south, the oldest blogger (or at least oldest lurker-turned blogger) on-line and still not pregnant. I mean, I was reading Julie's blog before she fell pregnant with Charlie. I read the Naked Ovary through her long, long wait for Maya. I know this is not a competition and there are no prizes but I felt like the last person to be picked for a game of rounders; a little uncoordinated, a little weird. You know maybe I was talking my drugs incorrectly? Maybe there was something really basic I hadn't grasped. Or maybe, the scariest thought, maybe I was never going to fall pregnant, never have children, maybe I just couldn't despit the best medical help in the world.
And we went back to the doctor and we did IVF. Transfer number one : no. Transfer number two: despite a promising start, no. And people spoke of the blogosphere being full of happiness and pregnancy announcements and I snarled in my corner, "Yeah, whatever. Let's do transfer number three and use up that last bloody embryo and then we can forget about it for a while and go on a nice holiday."
And we did transfer number three and the protocol was strengthened and I waited for failure no. 3. And nothing happened. No spotting. Nothing. "It's the estrogen," I thought, "Holding everything in." I did the blood test and went to work. My aunt called on her "number withheld" line (unlisted number to deter salespeople) and I didn't pick up. I didn't want to speak to ANYONE except the hospital and it was too early. My aunt phoned again. She called a third time during lunch and I blithely ignored her. At 2.30 on the dot I phoned the hospital, "Mrs. H?" the nurse said, "I've been trying to get hold of you. I phoned three times! It's good news, it's positive."
"I thought it was my aunt," was all I could say.
"Come in again on Thursday to see if it doubles in 48 hours," she said about to hang up.
"What was the figure?" I asked (I'm well trained by all of you now, I know they have an exact figure and the laboratory does not simply send back the test marked "positive".)
"330." she said.
Can you believe it? A year and a half after my disasterous loss I am pregnant again. The beta doubled in the Thursday test (700 something) and so far things are ok. The night terrors wake me up at 2 a.m. but otherwise things seem fine. Next visit to the hospital: Tuesday.
And I apologise for holding out on you all. It just seems so early, you know. It's the size of a sesame seed. Anything could happen. And yet, it is lovely, lovely, lovely to be pregnant again. Finally. And I'm scared of telling people. Scared that it will make it real to the outside world and it will all come crashing down but if I keep it secret, it can develop for a while longer and become stronger. Part of me wants to announce it when I leave the maternity ward with a healthy child in my arms and part of me want to tell all my friends, "I'm pregnant, I'm pregnant!" So I can tell you all and you know what's like and hopefully all will go well.