So.....positive pregnancy test #6 (getting darker with each pee). Still I disbelieve. I am the last person in the world I expected to be pregnant. Google says I could possibly be in peri-menopause or have a giant cyst emitting fake hcg. Google can bite me but still Google is a quasi-god in my world so I am still a bit leery eyed. And since I have had scuffles with monster cysts before option #2 seems quite possible, although apparently it's rare.
My first HPT is positive on a Saturday. I call my OB on a Monday, wait 45 minutes on hold before someone comes on.
I tell her I'd like an appointment right away, as I have had a positive!! test! (saying it I feel like I'm pulling a big joke on myself. Like all of a sudden I will turn to myself and say "you big eejit, what are you playing at? You drew that line on with MP's marker!" Also, I feel like an imposter. Like, I'm not REALLY pregnant, but these damn pee sticks keep saying I am--let's prove them wrong shallwe???)
She tells me they wait until eight weeks. Now I am all WHA WHA WHAT?!!!!!
That is about three and a half weeks from now. There is no way on this great somewhat green Earth that I am waiting three and a half weeks to find out if I am making this all up.
"I am high risk," I tell her, trying to sound in-the-know. "I am over 35. I tried for, like, six years and never got pregnant. We had MEDICAL INTERVENTION." Whatever happened to rising beta levels done every other day, like my RE would have done? Blood? Don't they want my blood? And how do they make sure I'm pregnant, after all? Don't they need to check? Or is it standard practice to let poor women waddle around for three and a half weeks not knowing if they are carrying a baby or just completely delusional? YOU MEAN THEY ACTUALLY TAKE MY WORD FOR IT??????
"Ok," she says slowly, "we can see you a little over six weeks. How's next Friday?"
"But don't you need to check that I'm pregnant?" I ask, incredulous.
She laughs. "Did you take a test?"
I tell her I took six. So far.
"We go by those," she says. "They're pretty accurate."
"Ermmmmm....okaaaaaaayyyyy," I say.
Now I must wait a week and four days before I know what the heck is going on. I spend all my free time googling. I find out about blighted ovums, and I am terrified. I find out about something called missed miscarriages. I find out about irregular sacs and no heartbeats and ectopics and the horrible news that thyroid problems can lead to miscarriage (I have a thyroid problem!). And then, of course, I read about the ridiculously named "chemical pregnancy," which can even be shortened to "chemical," as in "I had a chemical." Why is it called this? Why not call it what it is, an early miscarriage? It still counts, no matter when it happens. I am suddenly aware that a positive test doesn't mean all that much, even though.... it does.
I am way too informed. I am now an expert on how things can go wrong during pregnancy. I also find out that most miscarriages happen before ten weeks and I figure it is a forgone conclusion for me at this point, so every trip to the bathroom I expect the worse.
And I am still half convinced that my body is playing one big massive hysterical trick on itself and has somehow managed to magick the HPTs into saying something that isn't true. I now have nine happily congregating in my bedside drawer and I consult them nightly like prayer sticks. Although the traitor EPTs have faded and I convince myself that they somehow know the truth--this pregnancy (if this is what it is) will fade.
Six weeks and one day comes and it is time for my appointment. I bring along a friend I have confided in. I give the nurse information and pee in a cup and she says "why are you so scared?" and I tell her my story. She says "I would be that scared then, too." This does not make me feel much better.
In the examining room the doctor tells me that they will do an abdominal scan but that she does not expect to see much. And she puts the transducer (I now know the name for this!) over my lower belly and angles it and says...
I think I see a small pregnancy sac there. But I can't see anything else. She pulls the U/S away and wipes my belly and tells me to get dressed.
For a second, I saw a blank circle the size of a quarter on the screen.
I don't know what I expected--I had thought, maybe, heartbeat? Worm shaped thing? Fuzzy slippers and a binky?
In the office I tell the doctor about my fears. Blighted ovum, I say, is my biggest right now. Just the name makes me want to cry. I hate that it's "blighted." I hate this word. Why can't we say "hurt egg" instead?
"I can't rule that out," she says. "Your risk of miscarriage is about 33 percent." She then hands me material about screening for birth defects and launches into a speech about my options. I look at the timeframe for said tests--11-14 weeks? We are thinking about 11-14 weeks? Woman, I am 6 weeks with what might be a small sac or might just be a hole in my womb! Let's go one hour at a time here!
The doctor gives me a prescription for a trans vaginal u/s where, she says, they will be able to see more. She gives me a prescription to check blood levels of HcG and progesterone. My next OB appointment is scheduled for when I am ten weeks. I laugh (somewhat maniacally) as I leave--I won't be back, one way or another. My friend asks me how it went, and I tell her the truth:
Although one thing has been confirmed.
I am probably not making all of this up.
Next up: MP detour! And--thanks for the welcome back. Wow is about all I can manage.