My stomach twisted into knots. This was definitely a bad omen. Not a good prognostic indicator at all. I shared this news with my friend Isabelle, who asked if I were using Endometrin. No, I replied. I've been prescribed Prometrium, or whatever micronised progesterone the compounding pharmacy whips up for me. Suddenly, I remembered that I had received a box of Endometrin from a fellow blogger earlier this year. I used it for a few days during FET#2 and I found that I liked it much better than the Prometrium capsules. Endometrin comes with its own applicator, so I don't have to use the Pre-Seed Lubricant applicators. (Top Tip: Pap smear cytobrushes are the perfect tool for cleaning these applicators. They work well for cleaning the straw and spout of your water bottle too. Steal some at your next visit!) Best of all, I found that the Endometrin didn't muck up my underwear nearly as much as the Prometrium. I didn't have too much hope with that transfer. It was a Hail Mary Grade 2 Blast to possibly avoid a second fresh stimming cycle. After a few days, I switched back to the Prometrium, as I decided that I would save the preferred Endometrin as a reward when/if I ever became pregnant again. What can I say? This girl knows how to pamper herself.
Now I had to acknowledge; was there something to be said for the fact that my preference for progesterone tablets and planned use in the event of a pregnancy aligned perfectly with the timing of my results? It sounds absolutely ridiculous as I type those words. Yet, these kinds of things appeal to the meticulous nature of my mind. I always try to look for patterns. I love palindromes. I get excited when I see a sequence of numbers. Why was something so silly giving me more confidence than the top grades assigned to my euploid beautifully expanding blast, which was placed perfectly by the skilled hands of my RE?
I can't explain it either. I went into the lab for my beta test with a surprising sense of calm, that I haven't had with my previous situations. After my first fresh transfer 'The Day 3 Desparation' I truly had no expectations. I felt over-confident with FET#1 'The Chosen One' as I was mentally clearing my schedule to return for beta#2 and my ultrasounds while waiting for the phlebotomist to call my name. I had an impending sense of doom with FET#2 'The Leftovers' and with FET#3 'Haven't Named It Yet'. I was merely going through the motions of having my vein poked in order to wait for a phone call to tell me something I already knew. This time, I didn't have that same intuition that forcasted failure. It's not the same thing as believing that I might have a positive result, but hey; I'll take it.
The call came in around 2 PM. I quickly cleared the alert from my phone and I refused to look at the length of the message to avoid applying the Thin Envelope Theory. Fortunately, I had a pretty busy day, which included dealing with possible treatment failure for a patient with an ectopic pregnancy. I was more preoccupied dealing with her beta results than my own. At last, after a long day at the office, Cross-Fit and waiting for Husband to come home from his hockey match, we played the message just after 8PM.
"Hi Jane, It's Misery from Dr Somebody That I Used to Know's Office." I've told both her and New Girl that I don't have any other contacts with their names, so they don't need the full identification when they call, yet I was trying to determine if I could pick anything up from the tone in her voice. "I'm calling with your test results, your HCG..." oh fuck, she's struggling to get the words out... "Congratulations. It was 175. You are pregnant."
All I will ever remember from that moment is the smile on Husband's face. I don't think he has ever looked more beautiful to me. As we've been through two loses, we know that beta results don't always mean baby, and I once tried to dismiss their importance completely. It has taken three failed transfers to resonate their significance. We got our break. We're still in this game.