Drinks, Anyone?

I've had wonderful uterine cramps for two days, so bad, that I told my friend JS, "There is so much going on in my uterine area that I will be blown away if we're not pregnant."

Blown away, I am.

Beta: <1.0

Not pregnant.

Kind Nurse C said that I am welcome to come back in two days and do another beta "If you'd like to". That would be on 12DP3DT. Like, let's be totally serious. Is there really any chance in hell that a beta less than 1.0 on 10DP3DT would "come around"? Do they say things like this to torture us? Give us a shred of hope where there is none? But let's entertain this just for a second. How late can implantation BE? I'm at 10DP3DT right now, and we're already at the far end of the spectrum, or so I would think so.

If there is a chance in hell, please tell me.

I feel like an idiot for even asking this question.

And to make it even more confusing, she says to me,

"You need to stop the heparin, the parlodel, the PIO, and the suppositories. If you want, you can do the second beta here or you can do a HPT at home."

Me: But a HPT is only sensitive to 25mIU HCG.

She: Oh, some of them are more sensitive than that.

Me: No, that's as sensitive as they get. So if I stay home, but the most sensitive HPT, it would still show negative even if my beta did miraculously go UP. I mean, betas double, 1 would turn into 2 or 3. Not 25, which is what a HPT would need in order to pick it up.

She: Silence.

I don't think she was getting how utterly inconsistent what she was saying was. Okay, I really think a lot of nurses rock, but really...they hand out RN licenses with only introductory chemistry required in this state. Not exactly rocket science.

And to boot, if there WAS a chance in hell of my beta turning around, why the fuck would I even consider stopping my PIO or heparin? I mean, those sweet chemicals are designed to keep my embryos alive.

So, her advice: "Cut off their lifeline, but if you think you might be pregnant, go ahead and come back in two days (or do a HPT)."

Egad. As sweet as she is, I'm not sure what the hell is going on in the lovely head of hers.

So after this conversation, and after JS had left me as consoled as I could be, I dialed up J on his cell with the news. He was working a sound gig in Marina today and wasn't able to be here for the depressed event. He was more shocked than I. I cried as I explained Nurse C's insane dialogue with me and what I saw might be some of the things we'd want to do before the FET.

Ever the optimists, we immediately started looking for "what on earth went wrong". There's so much. Really, there is. So many tests that Dr. Moustache could have done but he just didn't see them as necessary. J said that since we've blown nearly $13,000 on this cycle that there really is no harm in continuing PIO until the second beta RECONFIRMS (ahem) that we're not pregnant. I would tend to agree that it's not over til it's over but, ladies, aren't we just playing in the realm of fantasy and dreams at this point? Someone please tell me if I should be taxi-ing over to the Black Watch Pub for a round of pint sized kamikazes.

We had six beautiful, grade 1 embryos. Why didn't they implant? What the hell is so toxic with my uterus that nothing can grow there?

Where do we go from here....?

We are optimistic, but we are drained as well. Emotionally. Financially. Physically. We're wondering, at this point, if we shouldn't follow, no, RUN, in Statia's footsteps and take our embryos to Dr. Next. I am feeling extreme guilt at this moment for having such incredibly fucked up tubes and immune issues. I feel guilty for spending so much of our money trying to have a child that we could have spent a couple of SUMMERS in the south of France. How does one get over this guilt? J has been an angel to entertain my incessant yearning to be a mother. But at what cost? J said he could live a childless life, but honestly, I haven't made that peace with myself just yet. I've always seen myself, sometime, somewhere, with a child of my own flesh and blood. It's always been a distant "something I'll get around to doing....sometime."

When do we say, "Enough is enough"? I don't know where my limit is. I'm pushing 42 and my time is short and I'm utterly depressed that I had blinders on my whole life, thinking motherhood would be something I'd do on my terms. "When I'm ready."

What was I thinking?

Answer: I wasn't. Thinking, that is.

We're beaten down, but we're not dead, yet. Even if we feel like it. I think we're both so shocked that this failed that rather than give up, we still have hope. I am so sad that Dr. Beer has died. I think that man is, was, our hope. And he's gone. Dr. Moustache is one of the only doctors in the area that even comes close to following his protocol, and he falls way short of really following it.

And Dr. Beer's office isn't taking new patients until the replacement doctor shows up sometime at the end of the summer.

How are we supposed to wait that long to START our in-depth immunological testing and treatment? And I already know that Dr. Moustache will put up a fight to do the in depth testing. He'll tell me to see Dr. T, whom I have a deep disdain for after he charged me over $200US for a friggin' consult.

So we're making our own list of things to explore before our FET. Most of it hinges on completing Dr. Beer's immunological testing and, maybe, even Dr. Toth's, but I don't know how we're going to get the tests ordered, or interpreted, in the absence of Dr. Beer and with Dr. Moustache hostile to me asking for them in the first place.

I'm all cried out for the time being. It's hot and although drinking sounds good on the surface, I tend to get further depressed when I drink, as J pointed out. He's right. Drinking when I'm down, just takes me further into despair.

I don't know what heals this sort of pain. I just don't.