News - on the day the Dalai Lama visited my town

I am pregnant.

WWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!

I found out just after 1pm today. My HCG is 300 and something and I am pregnant.

I am still a bit numb and not quite sure it's real yet.

Our little boy wet the bed at 2am so, as we were up, we decided to do the test then.

It showed two lines after an eternity, but the second line was quite faint and I went back to bed not thinking anything of it really. (And also preparing myself for bad news.)

I had always said whatever the home test result, I wouldn't place too much weight on it, and wait for the blood instead.

Then morning came, the sun rose, and I noticed the lines were a little darker, but still not conclusive. Then I read the bottom of the box, it expired in April.

I started to allow myself to feel some glimmer of hope again.

I had a blood test and what would normally have taken literally three minutes took me 35 minutes as the universe conspired to put four people suddenly ahead of me in the queue. And then when it was finally my turn, this crazy old lady's wallker wheel thing was blocking my way and it took, oh, about 17 YEARS FOR HER TO MOVE IT. I was quite breathless with nerves and anticipation by this point. Particularly as I wanted the test to be done ASAP, so it could get on the earliest courier to Brisbane so I could get the results, um, ASAP!

The blood guy looked sceptical as he wrote Urgent on the form and said the results normally take a couple of days. My face dropped, I told him that I was sure he could appreciate that we would be sweating on these results.

He circled the word Urgent, but I could not relax. I scurried back to the car, thankfully warmed from its morning chill after being parked in full sunlight, and burst into tears.

I think I had been counting down so fervently to this day, being 14 days and all, that I expected a result as soon as the sun rose. And to hear that I may have to wait another day, or even through the weekend...well, it broke my heart.

I went to work, tried unsuccessfully to concentrate and watched the clock tick over every hour.

At 1pm, I couldn't stand it any longer and took a punt by calling the doc's office in Brisbane.

"Hi there, I know this is a long shot, but just wondering if you have any results back yet." Wait, expecting a dismissive "Oh no, we wouldn't see those results on a Thursday until at least 3, maybe later."

But instead, a curt "Yes, we've got something here."

I held my breath. What followed was five minutes of utter confusion on my part, but I imagine total jaded going through the motions on behalf of the doctor's receptionist. She started going on about my HCG number, how they hadn't sent the progesterone results with the HCG results and wasn't that strange, did I still have enough pessaries, let me just put you on hold while I check with the doctor... WHAT????!!!!

She came back on hold and continued with this gibberish until I stopped her, exasperated and said point blank: "Sorry, am I pregnant or not?"

"Oh yes," she said, sounding temporarily self-conscious. "The doctor is quite happy with those numbers and we will see you for a scan in three and a half weeks."

I could barely utter goodbye before I crouched to the floor near a remote exit at work, where no one could see me, and cried my heart out.

Oh, my, god. Thank god. It has happened. What a relief, what a joy, what a fright, what a brilliant bloody result.

Each night for the past 14 terrible waiting nights, I have laid in bed just before I went off to sleep and placed my hand on my lower belly. In the still and the quiet, I have repeated the same words over and over in my mind: "Stay safe, healthy and strong, all the way to the birth and beyond."

Please god, make it so.

And time drags on

There is a stack of books sitting on one of the tallboys in our bedroom.

There’s Kaz Cooke’s Up The Duff and that classic, What To Expect When You’re Expecting.

They have stayed there untouched and unnoticed since the awfulness of last September.

This week I have longed to creep up, take one in my hands and tenderly wipe the fuzzy film of dust from its cover.

I have really wanted to flick through the pages once again; I yearn to have been given cause to do so.

I almost did that last night, but then I checked myself, and told myself to be patient. To wait.

We are just over half-way through our two-week wait and I am longing for so much.

Of course, longing to be pregnant this time and longing for caffeine and red wine on these cold winter nights; but also longing for some feeling in my belly, screw how early it is.

The first four days after the transfer I felt sick, and then this Monday afternoon,

I went back to normal. I have felt fine and completely normal ever since.

And I don’t like it.

I wish to be nauseous, vomity and bone-weary tired, thank you very much. Stat!

I can’t remember if I felt anything during the last two-week wait. I don’t think I did, just worry and vulnerability.

They are certainly back again, but I wish I felt more. Alright I don’t expect baby kicks per se, but something would be nice.

Plus I am also still taking progesterone, so even though I might get abdominal tiny twinges, every time I pass them off as some weird effect of that stuff.

I am due for my period in the middle of next week, and we can do a test on the Thursday. I also wonder what effect the progesterone will have on my period, if it will delay it...so I am cautious not to think about getting to excited if my period doesn’t come.

During some moments in the day, I will temporarily forget the limbo we are in, and then it will flick back into the forefront of my mind.

When that happens, a little part of me is disappointed because I wish I was back in that blissfully-ignorant state from a few seconds before.

The problem is that we know the precise minute the embryo is implanted.

The problem is that we have been counting the hours and the days since...a practice that only makes them hitch a ride with the Torture Tortoise.

No alternative but to wait.

Just breathe - 12 hours til pregnancy test

I've run it through my mind a thousand times.
I wake up and instantly feel butterflies like the ones you got as a kid on Christmas morning, or on the day of a flight overseas or when you start a new job.
Pure excitement.
Pure nerves.
I will urinate (spent a bit of time thinking about an appropriate word for that and decided to go with the clinical and rather sterile "urinate". Clearly sterile was the wrong word there, but my head is all over the place, alright?) into the cup.
That will be interesting and potentially quite funny as I will have just woken up and be attemping to line up what will doubtless be a cup of tiny circumference with, well, a hole of even tinier circumference.

Then I will place the stick in the cup for 10 seconds. And then I will most likely set the timer I will have grabbed in anticipation and count down from 2:00 minutes until the screen says 0:00.

In 120 seconds I will know.

I have spent all day believing I am pregnant. I am getting more and more people telling me that I would be unlikely to feel any physical symptoms this early AND I was due for my period about two days ago and haven't got it...AND I have had none of the bloating or bitchy moods that usually accompany the week before those little monthly delights. Well, certainly there has been no bloating. That I will swear to.

Surely they are all good signs?

Another reason tomorrow is such a red letter day is that it will be the last time (for now, potentially) that I have to inject, snort or shove some random medical chemical into my person.

There's been nasal spray, injections...and now the disarming concept of squeezing a gel called Crinone into my, well, you know.
That's right. Morning and night I twist the cap off the end of these little white plastic tubes, find a spot on the wall and think of England.
Let me tell you, it wasn't good for me and the earth didn't move as much as make me feel slightly nauseous.
But apparently it's all good for little embie...it contains a hormone or something that helps prepare the womb for pregnancy...I imagine it to be the soft furnishings and landscaping of a new home.
IE, the big gruff dirty builders come in and lay the foundation (ovary stimulation drugs), construct the frame and pop in some walls, windows and a roof - using the all-important Polyfilla (donor sperm, meet the egg) then the plumbers come in and put all the bathrooms and toilets in (embryo transfer). It looks pretty lonely right now...and not very lived in.
So a team of property stylists whizzes in and, hey presto, all of a sudden we have a stunning garden, some gorgeous curtains, rugs and cushions and some very special 1000thread count Egyptian cotton bed linen (Crinone). They take a long time (these creative types always do) and they work morning and night, squeezing every last ounce of effort out and up into the work site...

Here's hoping the finished property will win Home Of The Year...

Time

Grrr, is it Thursday yet?
If one more person asks me how I'm feeling, I will scream!
It's all my own doing, of course, and everyone's interest is so so lovely, but I have been thinking that I wish I had kept it quiet.
I have been thinking of a friend of mine in high school actually.
She was so paranoid of failure and looking like an ass that she didn't tell anyone she was going for her driver's licence test.
Then, on the day, she actually got it - it ended up being a big surprise for everyone.
She had the Cheshire cat thing going on and we all thought she was amazing...

In our situation, everyone from close family to aquaintances at work know pretty much the minute and the hour that little embryo went in.
And, granted, I have been pretty forthcoming with all the details on this blog...
So, I can't turn back time, I can't change it...but I wonder if it adds to the worry levels.

What if something goes wrong? What if I don't get pregnant this time (sorry, broken record, I know)? I guess I have to focus on the thought that my open disclosure will mean I have a wider support net to draw on, a larger comforting blanket to wrap around me, if something...disappointing happens.

I keep asking T to rack her brains for how she felt at this time all those years ago. Did her belly ache, did her boobs hurt, did she feel sick...???

People are asking me how I feel, if I feel sick, if I am having cravings. Then I say no, because I feel really well and my normal old self. Then that makes me freak out a tiny bit inside.

Mums who have been before me are good at the follow-up soothe, saying "it's a bit early yet". And I cling to those words.

The pregnancy test is on the bathroom counter. I look at it every time I am in there and continue counting down the minutes until Thursday.