There is a scene in the movie “The Princess Bride” where hero Westley relates to his love Buttercup how he survived when the Dread Pirate Roberts attacked his ship. Westley says Roberts would tell him every evening: “Good night Westley. Good work. Sleep well. I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.”
I can’t help thinking of that line most days right now. Except that for me, the line sounds something like this: “Good night Katherine. Good work. Sleep well. You’ll most likely miscarry in the morning.”
I had a beta drawn yesterday morning. Dr. E himself called to tell me that it had more than doubled appropriately from 111 on Monday to 290 by Wednesday. The betas were drawn exactly 48 hours apart, so it was a very good result. He wanted me in for an ultrasound next in about a week and a half. I was pretty happy.
Then, about four hours after my beta, I started spotting heavily again.
There were tears and worries and I called the office in quite a state. The nurse checked with Dr. E, then reassured me that since I’d had bleeding before, Dr. E planned to get that ultrasound in a week and a half and leave things alone until then. Dr. E wanted my progesterone upped to 75 mg of PIO each day to see if that helped with the bleeding, but unless the bleeding progressed to the point where I was passing tissue, we were just going to watch and wait. There wasn’t much else anyone could do for the situation.
So I’m waiting again. Wondering if the spotting will let up. Wondering if each sensation in my abdomen is a cramp or something else. Trying not to let my hopes creep up, but unable to stop that from happening. Then having those hopes dashed every time I see blood.
I know I haven’t been in the infertility community for nearly as long as so many people. I know I’ve only been seeing an RE for just over a year now. I’m also pregnant, no matter how tenuously. This makes me feel sometimes like I have no right to get this worked up.
At the same time, this my 10th shot at a medicated cycle, including an IVF, a miscarriage, and lots of frustration and cancellations because my ovaries don’t cooperate. I’m exhausted. I just want this to work so badly and yet keep getting such mixed signs that it’s keeping me in a constant state of worry about the whole thing.
Until we get some sort of definitive answer (if there even exists such a thing), I suppose it remains: “Good night Katherine. Good work. Sleep well. You’ll most likely miscarry in the morning.”