I’d recommend reading my Arizona post here before this one:Arizona. The land of margaritas, and weird future telling estheticians.
When I got back from Arizona I was over the moon excited! Told Kenny, he kept texting me day by day asking how everything was, given our history. It was cute. But also I was trying to distract myself from thinking too much and just kept myself busy at work. Luckily, work just does that for me automatically! It’s a great, fun, hectic distraction for whatever is going on.
I landed on Valentine’s Day, which was a Tuesday, Wednesday got my good blood work results, and then Friday was Kenny’s birthday. Did I mention that when I went to get my blood work on Wednesday I drove a half an hour out of my way to go to a lab I had never been to before, hoping for some different mojo? Yup, I’m crazy, but I digress.
Thursday was a pretty normal day, except for the “residue”. I had been prescribed progesterone supplements; nope not the kind of supplement you take like your regular vitamins, but (luckily! *sarcasm*) the kind you get to put…up your hoo ha twice a day. Super Hawt. The progesterone is used from 24-28 hours after you ovulate for about 14 days, or until you get your period or are pregnant. If you’re pregnant you keep taking it to support the pregnancy, if not, you stop it until the next cycle. Anyway, I noticed a little residue on Thursday, and called worried that maybe the medicine didn’t get to where it was supposed to go. But they assured me as soon as it is… in there (TMI), I’m fine.
*btw I still think about this, and wonder if I took another replacement dose if things would’ve been different*
Friday, is Kenny’s birthday, and my next 48-hour blood work. We have plans after work to celebrate, dinner in the city and a Louis C.K. show. But, when I wake up in the morning to get ready for work I see the dreaded hint of pink. I did a pretty good job convincing myself not to freak. Mostly because I didn’t want to ruin Kenny’s birthday, to be honest. But since everything seemed different, I told myself it would be ok. I gave Kenny a birthday smooch and ran away to avoid the possibility of getting suups emosh.
Went to the lab, and then went about my day. I had a million meetings, but was just waiting until the magical 2pm hour when my phone usually rang with the Dr.’s number. While in a meeting I got the call, the significantly less enthusiastic person on the other end this time, saying my HCG level increased but not quiiiiiiiiiite double like they hope within 48 hours. I actually spent the morning like Huck from Scandal whispering 552 552 552 552 552 over in my head hoping if I say it, it will be true. But there it was, 506. So, it was pretty close, and I ended up doing a deep dive down a rabbit hole about whether or not it HAD to double in 48 hours. Some sites said 48-72 hours, some said when it is pretty close you could still be ok, but I was already in Defcon 4.
I updated the hubs, but was determined to stay positive and have fun for birthday festivities, and just wait until Sunday to get the next 48 hour blood work. We had a delish dinner and the show was hilarious, obviously. I decided at the last minute to call out sick from teaching dance on Saturday. I just knew that if something was to happen, and I didn’t do everything I could to prevent it, I would always wish I had just lied down all day. So, I called out and felt super guilty about it, but spent all day on the couch with my feet up and trying to chill.
But then we had my cousin and his fiance’s engagement party, so I put on my best brave face and sipped on my ginger ale. Then Kenny’s work friends were having a co-birthday party with/for him and as much as I love hanging out with them I wanted to go there about .002%. But, we went, I hate to let anyone down. Once there, it was obviously fun, but we left early because I just wanted to curl up in a ball.
Also, as a side note, why the EFF won’t bartenders put a club soda with lime in a regular cocktail glass? Why when you ask for that, they have to put it in a huge water glass? And make it blatantly obviously there is NO alcohol in it. Same for virgin margaritas, c’mon bro! Help a girl out!
Anyway, Sunday we got up and went to the lab. I had also been taking baby aspirin, to help avoid blood clots, so I just bled through what seemed like 15 cotton swabs and then we went home. As luck would have it, Kenny’s parents drove up to Mass for the weekend to see some family and celebrate his birthday. We had dinner plans with them Sunday night with my parents. Around 3 o’ clock I got the call from the doctor…the HCG was going down. The pregnancy was not viable. HCG was now a 475. I made it through the call because as much as I hoped, I also knew at that at that point things didn’t seem good. But as soon as I hung up, I lost it. I just couldn’t believe this was happening again.
I texted my mom, because she was there when I found out originally, so I knew I needed to update her. She was very sad as well and suggested we cancel the dinner, as did Kenny. But I just couldn’t. They had come all this way, and we only saw them every couple of months. By the time I had stopped crying, I had about 45 minutes to get myself together and try my best to mask the epic blotching that takes over my entire face post-cry. But, I managed.
The dinner was actually quite fun; it was a much needed distraction and always good to spend time with family, even during dark times. But as soon as we got back to the house, I collapsed. All the energy I cultivated to get through the dinner positively just escaped my body and that was it. I texted my boss and told her I couldn’t come in Monday, I spent the whole day inside a weird shell of myself.
Luckily while in sweatpants and looking a hot mess Monday, we stopped in the grocery store for a few things, and ran into my brother’s close friend’s parents. Just what I was hoping for! *Joke* Of course they start making friendly “how’s life” conversation including my favorite question-“Got any kids?” Nope. And you’re timing is impeccable. These are super nice people, just ran into them at the least opportune moment imaginable.
So, all of this went down before I even found out about the ectopic pregnancy or began my love hate relationship with methotrexate. To be continued.