The good bad news is that the number is falling on its own. Down from 642 to 618. Big relief! Scan on Monday morn to double check errant embryo is not embedded where it shouldn't be, i.e. tube or anus. Off to have some wahn to celebrate!
Oh! Hahahaha! Just read the first comment and realized that you might think we had THAT kind of sex! No no, don't be silly! We are married for goodness sake! Married people don't even have sex, never mind do that kind of stuff!
have been fairly interesting of late. Let me back track to two weeks ago. I had been suffering from a pain in my left ovary that had gone from
slightly worrying to ‘omg I am going to die’. Which is my world takes anywhere
between two weeks and two seconds.
what was CD66 of my cycle (don’t you just love those PCOS cycles), I took
myself off to the doctor to have a scan of my bits. After much poking and prodding, the doctor
declared that it didn’t appear to be anything more ominous than a bit of
blocked bowel. In other words, I was
literally and figuratively ‘full of shit’. She prescribed a suppository to get things going and asked whether I wanted
to have a ‘peace of mind’ CA125 test. To rule out the ‘omg I am going to die’
factor. I said yes please. And because once an addict, always an addict,
I decided to throw in a little progesterone test along the way.
results came back that I wasn’t dying and that I had indeed ovulated. (prog = 42) Surprise surprise. By this time
the ovary pain had subsided as had my obsessing.
that until this weekend, when the thought occurred to me that if I had ovulated,
then I should have had my period by now. Which got me thinking. What
if. Surely not! It can’t be! But what if!
456,000 conversations in my head, I decided to email the divine Dr H to ask him
whether a progesterone count of 42 always indicated ovulation and if ovulation
had occurred, whether one’s period should arrive 14 days later and whether it
was scientifically possible that maybe I could be pregnant. Hypothetically and
scientifically speaking, of course.
back with “go get a blood test:
To which I
replied, “don’t be silly, I am infertile”. What a terrible waste of money.
on Monday. By Monday afternoon, which
was also a rather impressive CD79, I was driving myself crazy. So I bought a HPT. Which came up immediately with two
lines. PREGNANT! What the fucking fuck. How could this happen. I sent the divine Dr H a text message to tell
him. To which he replied, “go get a
blood test”. This time I complied.
I got the
results back on Tuesday morning. Beta =
532, prog = 32. Which could have meant
(a) I am pregnant (b) I was pregnant, but am now miscarrying or (c)
Ectopic. The only way to know would be
to do another test 48 hours later.
scared, happy, sad, nervous, freaked out. Marko’s first words were “but it’s impossible”, I replied “I KNOW!!” He immediately got out his measuring tape and
measured the spare room and I IM’ed Julie
for an hour. We both have our different ways of coping.
spent the last two days feeling a million different emotions. At 4:30pm today, exactly 48 hours after the first
blood test, I had another one taken. This time I marked it ‘urgent’. I have just got the results back.
over. I am not even sure what the number
was, all I heard was six hundred and something and I knew it was over. The doctor muttered something about there
being a very small chance that it could work out, but I told her quite firmly “no,
it’s over. I’ve done this enough times to know”. This is my sixth pregnancy. I know how these
things work. (For those who don’t
know how these things work, the number should have been around a 1000. 600 and something clearly isn’t anywhere
close to a 1000)
biggest fear is that it is ectopic. I
will be very very cross if it is. It is
one thing to get a total mindfuck with a surprise pregnancy, it is another
thing to have to go through that horrible methotrexate
thing again. (Methotrexate is a chemo drug that is also used for ectopic
“Methotrexate may cause very serious side effects. Some side
effects of methotrexate may cause death. You should only use methotrexate to
treat life-threatening cancer, or certain other conditions that are very severe
and that cannot be treated with other medications. Talk to your doctor about
the risks of taking methotrexate for your condition.”
assures me that her official diagnosis is “not ectopic” as my progesterone was
ok. I’m holding her to it.
Friday to check that the number is going down on its own (i.e. miscarrying naturally).
If it goes up slightly like it did this week, then it is probably ectopic. I am
going away on holiday next Friday and I REFUSE to be messing about with betas
and injections. I will make them give me
the metho right there and then.
believe this shit!!! I have THE worst
luck when it comes to reproduction.
it now. I am totally done. This has
convinced me that I am done having children. I really can’t do this again. I
am going on the pill. It is exactly a
year ago when I had that spontaneous pregnancy and the whole thing is getting
very old now. As are my eggs, as am I.
positive note, I got pregnant by having sex! For the second time! Which just
proves my point that sex is a very dangerous thing to do and we should restrict
it to once a year only. For safety’s sake.
Most cases of Patau syndrome are not inherited, but occur as
random events during the formation of reproductive cells.
Most embryos with trisomy 13 do not survive gestation and
are spontaneously aborted. Of those surviving to term gestation, approximately
82-85% do not survive past 1 month of age, and 85-90% do not survive past 1
year of age. Certain malformations, especially holoprosencephaly and other central nervous
system malformations, yield a more grave prognosis. Of those infants that survive
past 1 year, most have few major malformations, but the prognosis remains poor,
owing to multiple factors including long term neurological disability, feeding
difficulty, and frequent pneumonia and other
respiratory infections. There have been 5 cases reported in the medical history
of patients living beyond 10 years of age.
I am glad I found
out. Because it explains why I lost the
pregnancy. It wasn’t my body. It helps to know that.
Am still sad
though. Too many boys lost. Too many.
I was sitting in
a coffee shop, working when I got the call from my doctor. I still am sitting
here. A group of 10 women have just
walked in. It’s a baby shower. The pregnant woman is talking about her last
scan. About how the baby was hiding her
face with her hand. I think I am going
to leave now. Go home and hold my kids a
PS The pregnant
woman is complaining about her weight gain. She just ordered a big slice of chocolate cake. Am I allowed to hope it
goes straight to her hips?
add: I decided to finally find out the
sex of the baby I lost in 2002 due to trisomy 21. I’ve been too scared to find out until
now. Not sure why. It was a boy too. Too many boys lost, too many. That one in 2002, Luke in 2003, Ben in 2004
and now this latest little one. Sigh.
I’m fine. I am glad I found out. Just a little sad right now.
Yes, well. Still waiting for the week to get better.
Friday afternoon and Saturday
day have been particularly brutal but I am pleased to say that after copious amounts
of wine and sushi (which I can do because I AM NOT PREGNANT), I am feeling a
lot better emotionally. Let’s hope it stays that way. Those bad feelings were BAAAD.
Physically….. well, beside my broken toe and sticky eye, oh
and crampy womb, I am doing fabulously well.
The crampy womb, well, that is
going to take time to heal. Not terribly
worried about that. To be expected etc.
The broken toe (I don’t think it’s
really broken, just fucking sore) happened today. Adam dropped a wooden coat rack thingy on
my toe this morning. He got so upset
when I yelped in pain (it was bloody sore!) that I had to pretend I was fine
and console HIM! Marko laughed. Have I mentioned how not-fond I am of him (Marko)
at the moment?
Then, I have finally figured out
what is wrong with my eyes. When I woke
up from the anaesthetic, the skin under my eyes felt raw and sore. I remember
rubbing it and thinking ‘ouch’. It has
felt really tender and rough since the operation. I had no idea why. I have just figured it
out. They must have taped my eyes shut
for the procedure and some of that sticky shit has stayed behind. Lovely. I am not allergic as such to the tape, but my skin doesn’t like it. I always
pull the surgical tape off as soon as I can or else I get red welts.
I’ve never had this before
(although this was a new hospital I went to), how do I get rid of the sticky
stuff without having to take a scrubbing brush to the sensitive and some what
wrinkly skin under my eye?
I swear, if I wasn’t sitting
here with a hot throbbing toe and my hospital bills next to my laptop I would
think I was making this shit up. CAN
THIS WEEK JUST BE OVER PLEASE!
Today’s probably been my hardest
day. I think I’ve been a little numb up
until now. Actually, I’ve been surprised
at how ‘fine’ I’ve been until today. Everyone
keeps asking me how I am, and this whole week I’ve been saying “fine. I really
Today I feel not so fine. I think I overdid it a little today. I am sore. Sore and bloated. And sad. I feel sad today. Really sad. And I don’t like being sad. I’ve
did sad for a long time, I don’t want to be sad anymore.
I am angry at Marko for not
being soft enough to me. He thinks he
needs to be tough and strong so that I don’t break down. He thinks that if he shows softness it will
make it worse because I might cry. And if I cry then it’s not good. He doesn’t understand that crying is good
sometimes. And that right now I need him to be soft, not hard.
I suppose I am being
unfair. I’ve been so fine up until now,
how is he supposed to know that I don’t feel so fine now.
I don’t feel like being
fair. I am sad and angry. And he is the closest person around.
Dammit. I hate feeling like this. I think I need to go take some pain pills and
go to sleep. Hopefully I will feel
better when I wake up tomorrow.
Hopefully. I want to be fine again. I don’t like being not so fine.
Well, I’ll take that as a sign
then? (And no, I am not talking about
the git unit, although I am sure I would fit in nicely there as well)
Funnily enough, today was a lot
harder physically than emotionally. Emotionally … well, I really have made peace with what has happened. I
am not sure if the mental and emotional fall out is still coming (I don’t think
so, I really do feel fine), but for now I am just glad that it is over.
Physically however, my god, did
I took two cytotec last night
and this morning I thought I was going to haemorrhage to death. Revolting. I googled cytotec and guess who appears at position number 3 on the
results page? That asshole friend of
mine Julie! You’d think she could have
warned me. Whore.
Anyway, blah blah bleeding to
death etc. Then, to add insult to
injury, they put me in a bed next to a woman who snored louder than my husband
did last night!* How completely
annoying. I went in early to rest and I get
a snorer as my neighbour. Life can be
incredibly unfair sometimes.
The procedure itself went
fine. It isn’t pleasant, but it’s
bearable. Apparently the doctor managed
to get some tissue, hopefully enough to run some tests on. I have been thinking about whether I want to
know what the sex of the embryo was. I
think I want to know. It helps with
So, that was my Thursday. Not a whole lot better than Mon, Tues or
Wed. Let’s hold thumbs Friday makes up
for the rest of the week.
* Marko is SUCH as asshole. I don’t like to wake him up with a fright at
night, so when he snores (which, to be fair, isn’t often), then I will softly
say “snoring!” I usually have to say it a few times for him to register and
then he mostly just grunts and turns over. Which is usually enough to stop the
snoring. So last night, after the third “snoring!”
he wakes with a start and says “what”. I
repeat “snoring” and he replies “who?” Who? Who do you think you idiot,
the guy behind you? The neighbour? YOU, you asshole! YOU are snoring. Now roll over and sleep quietly.
This sharing a bed thing is for
the BIRDS! Hate sharing a bed. Hate it.
writing this in a light hearted way. It
was meant to be humorous. It has ended
up being very dark. I’m sorry. I guess joking around and trying to act fine
doesn’t always work. I am doing this
post as an extended one, it has got so long.)
I’ll start with
When I got
pregnant this last time (my FIFTH pregnancy, how fucked up is that), a friend
of mine who also did IVF to have her twins and then had a total surprise baby 2
years later, said to me "don’t you feel proud of your body!" And I realized that
for the first time in years, I did feel proud of my body.
I’ve never had a
particularly good relationship with my body, but infertility killed what little
love I had for it. During infertility I
hated my body. I despised it. It had
betrayed me in the cruelest way possible. And I was trapped by it, slave to it. I
couldn’t do it without it, and yet it kept failing me. And then I lost Luke and Ben. My body not
only betrayed me, it killed my children.