I think it's funny that today, at 21dpo, I am technically 5 weeks pregnant. I still have positive hpt's, positive beta's, just not positive *enough*. Our line isn't getting too much darker, and is still way lighter than the control line. You don't have to squint or adjust the contrast on photos, though, so that's something.
I had my blood drawn this morning, and despite needing two of those rubber bandy thingies to constrict my upper arm, it blissfully required only one poke (chronically deep and difficult veins). We'll see what we see in a few hours when the results come in. When I spoke to the RE on Monday, he said we're looking for something over 60 AT LEAST, but he'd like to see something closer to 100. Even that's not a guarantee though, as we could still be dealing with a blighted ovum or ectopic. All super fun options.
I find myself focused on the phrase "product of conception" today. Because we did, you know, conceive. We have something, comprised of Dr Boy's and my DNA, growing inside of me. It's giving me intense lower abdominal cramps, it's making my nipples ridiculously sensitive, and it's turning my nose into the Super Sniffer. It might not be our take home baby, but it's there. And that freaks me out. Hence the 5 weeks "pregnant". Because I am. I'm terrified of what we're going to need to do to make this go away, if it isn't anything good. Cancer drugs? D&C? Is "it" even big enough for that? All of these thoughts terrify me and make me indescribably full of sorrow. It makes me want to just ride it out, as if time is all we need for the outcome to change.
I never thought I'd wish for a plain and simple negative beta. Never in a million years.
|Sad Face. (also, the bathroom I cry in at work)|