I concluded my earlier post at the point at which we had just finished our (scrumptious) dinner yesterday. Unfortunately I fell off Cloud Nine shortly after that. Here is the rest of the story.
I was reading What to Expect and came across the section on chemical pregnancies. I started thinking about how early I got my positive HPT (CD11) and that technically my period wasn’t even due yet. And of course, just like the paranoid IFer that I am, I started worrying that maybe this would turn out to be only a chemical pregnancy. That it would be over before it even started. And I got scared.
On Wednesday night I couldn’t sleep due to excitement. Last night I couldn’t sleep because I was worried that I would wake up to find that my period had started. I woke up in a panic at 4am and had to stumble to the bathroom to take another HPT. I sat there staring at that place where that second line should be. There was nothing there. Of course, my 4am brain did not compute that the tests don’t work instantaneously. Thirty seconds later that second line started to appear, but by then the damage was done. I was panicking.
Picture the scene. It was 4 am, I was on my knees in the kitchen, wearing nothing but one of H’s old t-shirts, rooting through the rubbish bin trying to find the HPT from Wednesday night so I could compare the darkness of the test lines. I was frantic. I was sure that the line would be fainter than the first test.
It wasn’t. The line was exactly the same. But when I went back to bed I lay there thinking ab0ut how it was all about to go wrong. I was torturing myself.
I woke up this morning still feeling anxious. I felt like we had jinxed this pregnancy by being happy. It felt like by discussing the few plans that we had, by enjoying this moment, we had set ourselves up for disappointment.
Luckily the fog seems to be lifting. Going to see my GP this afternoon really helped. It seemed so much more real, and as all IFers know, it helps to have a plan. My GP recommended an O&G and even called his office for me and sweet-talked the receptionist into taking me on (apparently he isn’t taking new patients at the moment). So now I have an appointment at the end of March (oh so far away) and an ultrasound in April (the distant, inconceivable future).
Tonight I met H and his work mates at the Belgium Beer Cafe for drinks – although mine was pineapple juice rather than beer! I managed to lie (convincingly, I think) when someone asked if we had any plans for a baby. And just before I left, H told me that every hour he gets more excited about being a Dad.
What a way to end the evening.