I've been quiet for awhile. Work and other things, naturally.
And then, well, something happened. And I made a conscious decision not to discuss it here, not yet. Which makes this sound melodramatic and makes me feel a little stupid. But . . . I can't keep this and everything bottled up, because there is a lot attached to this.
Last Thursday evening, I got a faintly positive pregnancy test. Faint faint faint. On an internet cheap test. Which I only sort of trust, because it was so faint. I decided then that I would not count it positive - evap line, maybe. Friday morning, the test was the same. A line appeared within the five minute testing window, but was very, very light. Whether or not it was pink was questionable.
On the way home Friday, we were rear-ended. Just worth noting, because it's a giant hassle and pain in my ass.
I tested with a FR Friday night (10 dpo). It was negative. The faint line on the cheapie remained.
Saturday morning (11 dpo), I got a faint, faint colorless line on FR. DH didn't see it. Continue to get the same light line on the cheapie. Given that it is showing up so quickly, within 3 minutes, and is visible to both of us, we tentatively decide that well, it's positive. Right. Ok.
Sunday morning (12 dpo), I get a darker line on FR. But it is quite pale, I'm not sure about it, but again, it appears pale pink and both of us see the line. After a trip to get more FR, and some digitals, and go grocery shopping, I take another test and this one . . . it's a beautiful positive. A clear, though light, but definitely pink line appears in about a minute.
It was positive.
I was pregnant.
Symptoms were present this entire time, fatigue and sore boobs, primarily. Nausea wasn't there much, which worried me some, since I've always been so ill from the beginning with the other pregnancies. But every pregnancy is different, right?
I took another test yesterday morning, expecting the line to be even darker, as I prepared to call the doc for betas.
It wasn't darker. It was barely there.
Another fucking chemical pregnancy.
I cried all the way into work. Not because I was attached to that baby - I wasn't. That may sound callous, but let's be honest. With the multitude of ways in which a pregnancy can go wrong, I remain shocked that anyone is ever born. After all of two days, I'm not attached. But I am angry. I am hurt. I am tired. I don't know how much longer I can ride this rollercoaster, but the other options are not palatable.
As of this afternoon, the tests were still faintly positive, and my period had not yet arrived. Infuriating. I would be concerned were it not for the fact that I have at least finally started spotting.
To go into everything I felt all weekend . . . I was practically batshit crazy. I am not convinced I can go through another pregnancy. I wonder somewhat if I would be any less worried if the circumstances were different, if the positives showed up quickly and darkly, if they weren't late or unclear, if my temperatures were more steady. Dunno.
It was an emotionally wringing weekend, and I was terrified for much of it, though I tried to simply breathe through it. To make it through and end up with yet another failure has simply left me feeling raw.
I don't actually feel like writing any more about this right now. I've hashed it over with a friend. I'm bitter. And I've got work to do. And an insurance claim to work on. So dwelling yet again isn't the best choice. But I wanted to put it out there, because I'm feeling a lot of different things about this.
It's so tiresome. We're into our fourth year of actively trying. We should be trying for Gabriel's sibling. And instead, it's still - all these years later - just us and the pets, only now there is also a box of ashes. This is not how it was supposed to be. It's how it is. And I don't think there is a single thing I can do to change it. Things would be so much easier if I could see what happened in the future, whether or not it is worth it to keep going. Right now, it sure doesn't feel that way.