It Took 5 Weeks and 4 Days

Last week I went out of town for a professional development workshop. I had just found out I was pregnant so it was late in my fourth week. It was the coldest week of the year and I was commuting on the dirty trains and cabs and EVERYTHING about the experience made it feel like a bad idea.

But I can’t live in a bubble for 9 months (or even three), and my district paid for me to attend. I felt like I had no choices. Even my very own husband was telling me to suck it up and stop looking for an excuse to come home.

So that’s what I did. I sucked it up. And sure enough I got sick. Saturday morning I woke up with a fever and a stomach thing (which is a source of panic for me in the first place).

And my 102 fever didn’t break for 24 hours.
And I definitely didn’t drink enough fluids even though I really tried.
And now I’m worried. (What a shocker)
I’m worried that my tiny little sesame seed who is working so hard to grow and thrive was somehow compromised.
And I am mad at myself for not trusting my instincts to take it easy last week. I am also mad at myself for reading old babycenter threads about fevers in early pregnancy.

I am not a religious person, but I have been bargaining with God and/or whatever higher power exists all day that I will ALWAYS trust myself from now on if (s)he can let this one slide and please let my baby be okay.

This is also when I realized that I was NOT maintaining a safe disconnect from the life inside of me even though I really thought I was. It took 5 weeks and 4 days – (if we are counting from arbitrary fake retrieval dates before an FET) – 5 weeks and 4 days to be connected to this little peppercorn.

Logically, I KNOW that everything is probably fine, and that if it’s not, there is probably nothing I could have done differently to prevent it. But that only goes so far in calming me down. My 5w5d ultrasound is tomorrow.

I don’t want to lose another one.

Don’t Cheat

This morning, I had bloodwork done for Estradiol and Progesterone.

“Looks like Wednesday is the big day,” says the lab tech, referring to my beta. “Don’t cheat and test early.”

“I don’t even have any tests at home,” I lied. (Actually, I bought 4 dollar store tests yesterday, just to ‘have around…’).

I don’t know why I lied. I could have just said, “I’ll try not to!”

The thing is, I am very torn. I don’t think I want good OR bad news from a phone call. So, my current plan is: undecided.

On another note, the boy has some sort of stomach bug which is giving me major anxiety. Stomach things are THE WORST. I do NOT want it, and I also hate when he is sick. :/ So now, any cramp, twinge, fatigue, sensation, etc. can DEFINITELY be chalked up to either progesterone or anxiety. No symptom spotting for me (and anyway, I really don’t have any).

Cray Cray

At school this year, all the kids were using the phrase “cray cray” to mean “crazy.” (As in, “Amanda is cray cray for dating Brian. He’s so gross.”). Well, the past 12 hours are putting me in the cray cray category.

If you follow this blog, you might know that I had a little injection freak out last night. Cetrotide is meant to keep you from ovulating early, and I lost a bit of it out the top of the needle in a freak squirting.

This was followed by hours of me perseverating over the issue. Numerous texts with Sister, RN… who did not jump right away to saying it was fine, but who did ultimately make be feel better. A mention to R, who had no patience for my anxiety and worry and immediately called me cray cray. Ok, to be fair, he did not say “cray cray,” but that was the implication. There was a fight and there was yelling and there were tears. How could he be so insensitive?!? And then there was an apology and fro-yo … and we put it behind us.

Last night, there were also lots of cramps. The kind that show on your face. My tummy was tender, bloated, and crampy. These feelings had been coming on throughout the afternoon and they intensified in the evening. I felt good about it because I’m thinking, “everything is working as it should.”

Then this morning I woke up, and I FEEL NOTHING. The bloat has even gone down. I can sit on the floor with my dog without cringing. No cramps. No heaviness. Nada. Yesterday I was overjoyed that I didn’t have to teach aerobics; today I feel like I could go for a run, comfortably. How can I feel nothing on Day 7 (especially when yesterday things were so intense?) WTF?!!

So of course I get right on the train for Crazy-Town and start thinking the worst: surely I must have ovulated and the cramps last night were not things growing and working, but ovulation cramps. And all of my front runners are released and done, and this cycle is going to be a bust. Maybe I am “cray cray” because I can not help my mind from going there.

And of course I don’t have my next appointment until tomorrow morning. And I can’t talk to R who lectured me last night about worrying too much and looking for problems. And I’m not the type to call my doctor and demand to be seen. (I’m just not…)

So for the next 24 hours, even though I will do my darnedest to distract myself, I’m going to be cray cray and there’s nothing that I can do about it.


Way to take your mind off of TWW if you have an anxiety disorder and emetaphobia (fear of vomiting):

Wake up to DH having stomach issues when you KNOW everyone has been catching that terrible stomach bug lately. DH knows well enough than to admit he feels sick (“I’m just uncomfortable…”), but there’s no fooling an emetaphobe.

I’d rather be obsessing over 2ww…

Que Sera…?

It is uncanny how many years of a woman’s life can go by without much thought to her cycle other than the cliche hating on her “time of the month.”  Then, suddenly, when the thought of trying to have a baby enters the mind, it becomes all encompassing.  And I know I am not alone, because I have been surfing the web.  A lot.

I am 32 years old, and from the ripe of old age of 17 when I first suspected that getting pregnant might pose a challenge for me, I have been known to say things like, “What’s meant to be will be.” That’s a decade and a half of self talk out the window, because, yeah, not so much anymore. Suddenly, it feels like there is no other option and that life without kids does not exist in my realm of possibilities.

So here is where all of my anxieties and insecurities start to rear an ugly head.  It does not help that DH is not a huge fan of sex (sounds weird I know, but I think he was just raised to consider it “dirty.” :/) and even thought we planned to start tonight, there has been NO talk about sex, lots of talk about  “tired…” and it is after 11:00.

So I guess I will sign off with “que sera,” but we all know that I don’t mean it.