Walk Like An Egyptian

I am going to London to visit the Queen, wearing my thousand league boots.

Uh, no. Actually, shopping and visiting Tutenhkamun and some studly Chinese Terracotta warriors.

Before I could get on the plane, the clinic insisted on a HCG check which thankfully had fallen by 25% in a week. Another check in 7 days when I get back.

See ya laters, alligators.

Irradiated

The deed is done. Methotrexate administered yesterday afternoon. HCG had jumped to the giddy heights of 400-odd with nothing in the uterus.

The medical pronouncement was Pregnancy in an Unknown Location. Perhaps in my handbag???

Luckily so far, other than extreme fatigue, I do not appear to be suffering the acute abdominal pains that ended me up in the gynae ward last time.

We are going to buy doggie accessories this weekend so that will keep me occupied. The xmas shopping list is still consuming my time and I have pointedly made a list of things I want from Santa (Mr P).

If you are looking for beautiful, handmade pottery or jewellery, please stop by Beagle's Etsy shop. I can vouch for her as I received a beautiful pendant I had ordered from her shop.

Thank you, Beagle. Your artistic talent even outshines your considerable kindness and thoughtfulness.

You Say Ectopic, I Say Mehctopic, Let's Call The Whole Thing Off

Tuesday U/S showed my ute as clean as a whistle. It practically had tumbleweeds blowing through it. Lining was 4mm and no sign of any uterine occupants. All that bleeding with clots last week sure did the job.

There was no sign of fluid in the ute or the pouch of Douglas which could indicate an ectopic. I am not having any bleeding or pain.

And yet...and yet...the HCG rises. It went up to 329 yesterday from 203 a week before.

I go back tomorrow and if the HCG is falling, great. If it rises, then I suspect it will be treated as an ectopic.

I warned the clinic that I am going to London in a week and if something was going to be done, it would have to be this week. I suspect the meth shot but who really knows at this point.

Certainly not me. I hate my body for its inability to do anything right. I wanted a simple miscarriage, not an extended bloody drama again.

I doubt its ability to ever do it right.

In the meantime, it is dark here at 3pm in the afternoon. How appropriate for my mood. I have been exercising my retail therapy muscles online and doing all my xmas shopping. Luckily, most of my gifts come from Amazon.

Of course, I cannot just spend on other people. As it is practically wintertime and the time when all middle-aged women turn their thoughts to knee-high boots, I have just received in the post some new boots.

Now I must caveat that I have calves like a rugby player so normally boots laugh and snigger at me as I try to zip them up but this online company is a lifesaver for those both thick and thin-calved. They also ship internationally ;)

I now have my eye on another pair.

My retail therapy has also extended to the canine variety. We are picking up a puppy when we return from London. We have been talking about it for years and now the garden is puppy-safe, the time is right.

Not Over Yet

One person unsubscribed from me this week on Bloglines. Too many swear words? Not enough pregnancy action??

Well, we are not out of the shite yet.

I had another HCG draw taken on Tuesday. I got the phone call today to go back into the clinic next week as my HCG is rising. It went from 117 on Thursday to 203 on this Tuesday past.

This, despite the fact that I stopped all the estrogen and PIO on Thursday and have been bleeding like billy-o since Monday this week.

As Father Jack would say....feck, feck, feck.

Shall we have a sweepie (what would you Yanks call it...a pool??) on it being a 2nd ectopic?? Place your bets.

I am so over this already.

The Girl Who Cried Pregnant

No, there was nothing wrong with my comments. I am the team of one and I know it seems terribly ungrateful but I really could not bear an outpouring of sympathy on Friday. I know some people e-mailed me directly and I thank you, if you did.

How am I doing?? Well, the title says it all. Twice now, I have had to tell my doctor, employer, diabetic nurse, postman (not), all at an early stage of pregnancy and twice now I have to tell them "Actually it is fucked". Well, not those exact words but you get my drift. Instead of the boy who cried wolf, I am the girl who cried pregnant.

Frankly, it is embarassing. My boss must not know what has hit him cos well, he is a bloke. A typical Scottish bloke, not much older than me.

Both me and Mr P are taking some time off work. Me, I am waiting to bleed. I am emitting some kind of brown snot at the moment but since I stopped the estrogen and PIO on Thursday, I am not sure how long it will take for the deluge to arrive.

Mr P is taking it hard, in his own quiet fashion. I cry and he pats me. I am not sure if he wants to cry but he has been obsessively hoovering up millions of leaves this afternoon which I am sure is some kind of emotional displacement. Hoovering up leaves in my garden is a thankless task as we are surrounded by deciduous trees and they will blow in from miles around too. They will all be back tomorrow and I guess he will start again.

I guess I am doing my own emotional displacement too as I refuse to lie around and be depressed about this chemical pregnancy. I used to do that and I have learned the very, very hard way that it does not help me in the long run, either emotionally or physically.

I am also refusing to let myself dive into the sugar. I want to. Oh, I want to but I will not.

There has been a lot of decluttering in this house this weekend.

It's All Over, Bar The Shouting

And the bleeding.

The jubilation and the good wishes were lovely, and especially the stories of slow plodding betas actually becoming real-life children.

Unfortunately, mine will not.

Yesterday's HCG level had dropped massively in 2 days and the sac had not developed, and in fact looked like it was disintegrating.

The hospital reckoned it had stalled at the beginning of the week but who really knows?? The nurse gave me the obligatory miscarriage leaflet which I binned when I got home. I know all I need to know about miscarriages already from too many real and blog friends.

Thank you all again for your kind thoughts and wishes.

From The Dark Side Of The Street....

to the bright(er) side of the road.

We saw a sac. A sac!!!

Excuse me whilst I celebrate this, the furthest point we have ever gotten to. I know it is nothing and equally nothing is certain. But today there is a sac in my uterus.

For today, that will do.

More bloodletting was done, including another HCG and I have to go back to the clinic on Thursday. Guess what for??? Another HCG test to check appropriate doubling.

Feel free to roll your eyes with me and mutter savagely under your breath "Where were you last week when you were needed???

Aaah, the NHS. Slow to get going but once they have you in their grasp, it is like a juggernaut with 5 wheels.

Well, I Think We Have Ruled Out Twins Anyway

I am here, hunkered down in the corner, gibbering.

The good news is that Tueday coming is when all the local big guns of the endocrinology world get their hands on my diabetes and thyroid and BP problems. Oh, and the early viability scan. I will be 5w4d.

The bad news is that when my diabetic nurse phoned me to tell me about the appointments, she dropped the bombshell that my GP had decided to run the beta test after all.

79.

At 15dp3dt or 18dpo.

Either way, not good. A low number. The median number on betabase for 18dpo is 247.

So....we either have a slow plodder of an embryo, a blighted ovum or another ectopic. Or some other horrible outcome that I cannot put my mind to at the moment.

Ok, so I am going to be gibbering here all weekend until Tuesday comes. You will have to entertain yourselves.

PS I am reading a truly horrifying book about zombies which does take my mind of my toxic uterus for moments at a time. Check it out, if you dare....mwha..haha.

At times like these, chick-clit-lit just does not cut it.