No news might still be good news, right? I tested again this morning--at 36 days (and 8 days late), but got another negative test. I can't help but be reminded of my pregnancy with Ella. We knew the date of conception was August 31st (there was only one time it could have been), but when I tested after my missed period and then a week later both were negative. I had only just had one cycle after an early miscarriage, and I assumed I was having another crazy-long one. So, I waited and waited, and finally went to my doctor to find out what was wrong with me. She confirmed I was 9 weeks along. That's some serious patience/denial/will power, what have you.
Could my body just take a little longer than most to start metabolizing hCG (or however that might work)? Might I be going through the same thing all over again? I've been googling like mad, and I'm not really finding a lot to go on...
I'm so torn between feeling intensely excited and dreamy and hopeful, and then feeling nervous that I'm getting ahead of myself and what if it's ectopic or just some kind of hormonal funk. I crashed into bed the night before last at 9pm, after taking a nap mid-day, and I can only assume it was from sheer mental exhaustion. (I'm usually a night owl.) I have never in my life wanted anything so badly, never waited for anything so patiently (and incessantly), never felt so strongly that I was just meant to do something so profoundly. On this brink of hope, I am just freaking out.
My good friend Rachel has coined me "unflappable"—insisting that I don't come unglued and seem to soldier on despite what could be considered difficult circumstances. Well, I am flapped. It's official. I've done come unglued.
I think I may take your advice, Summer, and go get a blood test already.
All of this "not knowing" and waiting has reminded me what a vulnerable time pregnancy is—first the trying, then the precarious first trimester, and on to the impending surrender during birth and beyond. My protective trying-to-conceive shell has cracked open, and now I'm confronted with whatever will be. This is my journey. I must surrender and be patient. And that, my friends, is a tall order.
I can just imagine how I'd feel if I was eight days late. "Flapped" wouldn't be the half of it.
I know of many women for whom HPTs just don't really work. I have a friend who has been pregnant something like 11 times (3 kids, she's a recurrent miscarry-er) who says that she has NEVER gotten a positive HPT. So it happens. And that's why the blood test is still the gold standard!
Call your doctor, please, because SOMETHING is up. A woman with regular cycles doesn't go 8 days late without it meaning something. It could be a baby, it could be an ovarian cyst or something... getting a blood test now isn't just for relief of infertility fretting, it's a real diagnostic tool. Besides, I'm getting all antsy for you, I want to know! And I very, very much want it to be Option Baby!
Posted by: Summer | April 07, 2008 at 10:30 AM