That would be how my follow-up beta could be described. Not stellar. Not an inevitable crash.
As you know, my first beta was 122.
My second beta on Saturday was 217.
I was praying like a zealot Friday night while I lay in bed (after bursting into great big sobs and smearing mascara all over Mr. DD’s shirt earlier in the night before because I was scared witless…) and just asked for 244. I didn’t think that was asking for too much. I lay on my back with my hands intertwined over my abdomen and let the tears track from my eyes to my ears while I chanted, “244, 244, 244, 244, …”
Should I even bother to mention how when I called the lab for my results, the phone cut out at the very moment he told me the level and I heard him just say “17”? I almost passed out with grief, but was able to repeat it back to him, which is when he corrected me, “No, 217.”
It was about 40 minutes later when the clinic called. My estrogen and progesterone levels look good (bully for them), and even though my beta didn’t “quite” double, Dr. Samelastnameasme isn’t concerned. Instead I must have a third beta on Friday.
I guess it was too much to ask to go to Thanksgiving dinner with the in-laws while Nutbag’s daughter, Unibrow gestates Baby #2 (another girl, too) and not feel as if my insides were shriveling up and my heart was breaking all over again.
What I wouldn’t give to be able to go back in time six-plus years ago to remember how easy it was to see the positive pregnancy test and schedule my ultrasound six weeks later. Why is this so easy for so many others?
Why couldn’t I have had “perfect” instead of “adequate”, just this once? I know I’m lucky to even be pregnant, but shit, I just want to be able to breathe again.
Sorry I left you hanging. Our computer was not playing nice.