A beta of 8.46 is not a good beta. Every time someone posted a low beta like this I always read the fingers-crossed’s and the you’re-still-not-out’s with a bit of annoyance. Like why are we giving this poor woman any hope? Let’s be realistic. 8.46 is not good.
And yet, I hoped.
I scoured for success story after success story. I replayed the voicemail and even the nurse sounded hopeful. “You never know”, she said. But I’m sure she knew.
And still, I hoped.
On Tuesday, I was barely keeping it together. Just fragile and constantly on the verge of tears.
But still, so hopeful.
On Wednesday morning I turned 38. I somehow managed to keep this at the forefront of my thoughts and for the most part it worked. It was a genuinely happy day. The phone call came at 2 and even when I learned that the beta dropped to 1.5 I pushed that sadness all the way down and rejoiced that I didn’t have to do any more damned progesterone shots. It’s okay. We’ll get it next time.
I was hopeful.
Thursday, I was still okay. I thought I was okay. I went through the entire day okay. Even when I walked into therapy I avoided talking about it and ranted about work instead. The last 15 minutes my body gave up the fight and completely fell apart. It felt good to get it out. I was trying to be strong for Lucky and my parents and my husband and myself and my body was not having it. But it felt good to get it all out. I’m mad that I got my hopes for fucking 8.46. I’m scared that our RE will not know what to do next because we only got 5 eggs last time. I’m sad that I had to experience my first chemical pregnancy on my birthday.
Why did I hope?
I think I’m okay now, though. I think. Our wtf and next steps appointment is September 20th so I guess…
There is still hope.