Archive for August, 2009

HPT-free zone

Tuesday was rough.

It was my own fault, really. But rough nonetheless.

After my first ultrasound, I bought a 3-pack of home pregnancy tests. I had two weeks to wait until the big u/s, at which we hoped to see the babies’ heartbeats, and I knew I’d be anxious in the interim. Taking the HPTs, I figured, would reassure me that the pregnancy was progressing. I “scheduled” them at 4-day intervals to pass the time until the u/s.

On Tuesday, for a variety of reasons (anxiety being one of them? Me? No!), I moved Friday’s u/s up to Wednesday (with the blessing of one of the nurses, of course). And then, even though I had less than 24 hours to wait, I figured I might as well use that last damn stick as planned.

The second line appeared, but far, far lighter than all the others had been. Lighter than the control line. Lighter than my already fragile nerves could handle.

I called the nurses’ line hoping for reassurance. A “Don’t worry, the darkness of the line is irrelevant,” perhaps, or a “Those tests aren’t quantitative” or even a simple “I’m sure everything is just fine.”

Instead, I got “You’re 7 weeks pregnant. Why would you do that?” Followed closely by “Do you feel any different?”

At which point I started to hyper-analyze every symptom (or lack thereof) and decided aloud that, actually, my boobs weren’t as sore as they had been. “And now I’m starting to hyper-analyze every symptom,” I told the nurse.

“Well, don’t do that,” she said. (Um … but didn’t you kind of just tell me to?)

I asked if I could come in that day for the u/s, but the u/s techs were already gone (at 10:45 a.m.? Huh?) and she could really only send me down to the main hospital for an u/s if it was an emergency. Which this wasn’t.

“Why don’t you pick up a book and try and pass the time until your appointment tomorrow?” she offered.


Needless to say, Tuesday was a very, very, very long day. Excruciatingly long. And of course devoid of sore boobs and nausea, which made it feel even longer. I was certain something — everything — had gone wrong.

I slept fitfully and woke before my alarm on Wednesday morning. The Boy and I arrived 25 minutes early for our appointment. “How are you?” asked the u/s tech. “Very anxious,” I said. I blurted out the HPT mess, still hoping — even as she prepared the u/s wand — for some reassurance. Nothing.

And then.

And then in the dark room came the flicker of a heartbeat. And another. And suddenly we were looking at two live babies, with heart rates of 133 and 136, both measuring exactly on track at 6w6d. And the anxiety — at least for that brief moment — melted away.

And now I can say this: there will be no home pregnancy tests in my house again, ever. Acupuncture, yoga, meditation, walks around the neighborhood, screaming into a pillow … I will find other ways to deal with my anxiety. Those sticks will not be one of them.


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on today’s menu

1 bowl melon with Greek yogurt
plain bagel with cream cheese
1/2 can alphabet soup
1/6 chocolate shake
1 plum
3 handfulls Pirate’s Booty
3 bites cold macaroni and cheese
1 pickle
3 blueberry pancakes
ginger ale

Which of these things helped to quell my newly-developed all-day nausea?

None of ’em.

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2 words

It’s twins.

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the details

I’m incredibly superstitious, so writing the words “I’m pregnant” makes me very nervous. (Thus the simple photographic evidence in the last post.)

But it’s true: I’m pregnant.

I even managed to avoid those home pregnancy tests until after my beta last Friday. Sheer willpower plus a husband who argued strongly for waiting for the official test kept those sticks in the drawer until after the phone call came.

Ahh, that phone call. I wish I’d recorded it. Few things have surprised — or delighted — me more than that call.

So, the facts:

Beta #1 (13dp3dt): 320

Beta #2 (15dp3dt): 732

Beta #3 (17dp3dt): 1971

Those are the good parts. I’ll leave out the parts about the minor spotting (likely caused by the progesterone suppository applicator irritating my cervix), and the full-body aches and low fever (likely caused by … well, who knows?). For a minute, anyway, this card-carrying worst-case-scenario girl is going to try and focus on the positive.

I’m pregnant.

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