So yesterday sucked. Flat-out blew. Fat chunks. By bedtime, I was absolutely convinced that this pregnancy was over. DH and I tried to discuss the "positive" in the situation (not easy, let me tell you). We went to bed really early because I could feel a migraine coming on and I just was DONE with Monday, January 28th.
It's funny because the number "9" has always been my favorite number. If anyone ever has me "pick a number between 1 & 10" I invariably choose 9 (even though I NEVER win). My birth month is 9. Age 9 was my favorite year. The due date of this baby was to be in month 9. But, last night, I couldn't stop thinking about what a dirty bastard "9" was. That's a REALLY crappy number when it comes to hCG levels. My good friend "9" suddenly seemed to be turning on me.
I woke up this morning to find I hadn't bled *too* much overnight. It was pretty heavy this morning, though. I called the nurse at my OB's office because I couldn't stand not knowing if my level was actually only 9 or if it was short for something...like, say 9 HUNDRED. I told her about my bleeding (which I'll spare you the details of) and my slightly increased cramping and told her that I knew when we would have had to conceive and that I just didn't think "9" was indicative of anything good at this point. I asked if I should even waste my time with the bloodwork tomorrow. She didn't sound very hopeful at all. She said she'd call me back. (by the way -- is it a requirement to have social skills in the negative to work in an OB's office?)
FINALLY, she called me back and said that my doctor absolutely thought that a 9 could be a level reflective of where I should be with this pregnancy and that she didn't give much value to hCG charts vs. weeks pregnant -- she only cared about the numbers going up. So, my hope sparked a bit.
And now, the bleeding's all but stopped. Very slight spotting, but much, much less than in the past 36 or so hours. So, my hope's sparked a bit more. I'm still trying to remain realistic, but I'm praying and crossing everything I can cross that I hear good news tomorrow.
Lawrence is feeling better today, too. After his traumatizing breathing treatment that did nothing and a steroid shot that seemed pointless, he finally seems to be turning the corner. He still sounds like Darth Vader, but he's not coughing nearly as much.
Ugh. I'll be so glad when tomorrow's over. If someone could just fast-forward until the part where I know what the EFF is going on with my body, I'd really appreciate it. I'm sick of this stupid roller coaster ride.
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