Beta days have never been easy around here.
It all started last night when I could no longer handle the anticipation, and begged my husband to take me to get a pregnancy test. He wasn't thrilled with the idea because he feels like what he refers to as are pee sticks are as close as it gets to the devil, but he knew better than to start an argument over it, so to the closest store we went.
Less than ten minutes later I was in the guest bathroom with my cup and test stick in hand, knowing this was definitely not a good idea. Especially since I had just urinated less than two hours prior, it was 10pm, and everyone knows first morning urine works the best.
I picked apart that test, staring and searching for any sign of a second line until well after the ten minute time limit had elapsed; after which I was finally able to turn the test sideways under the harsh florescent light and squint hard to locate a very faint pink line.
And after much convincing, my husband was able to see it too.
My heart was breaking, but I tried to hold out hope until the next morning, because I knew that would make for a more accurate-and much more conclusive-test. I tossed and turned all night, unable to fall into that much needed deep, REM sleep, instead drifting in and out of restlessness until my alarm set me free at 6:15am.
At which time I marched sleepy eyed back into the guest bathroom to pee in a cup for the second time in less than eight hours. And as I set the capped test back on the sink and watched the control line deepen, I tried my best to locate the faint pink line I thought I saw last night. And finally, well after the allotted ten minutes had again passed and I had prayed over the toilet that God would please just let me be pregnant, that faint, hardly visible line forced its way into my line of vision as I twisted, manipulated, and glared at the test.
I pulled out last nights test from the trash for the millionth time to compare the lines, and it didn't take me long to make a conclusion about the lack of a darker shade of pink. I felt like breaking down in tears, but I just couldn't.
Instead, I tossed both tests into the trash-this time out in front of our house to avoid repetitive, obsessive dig through for re looks-and proceeded to get dressed, put on my makeup, and get ready for the day. And as I waited for my 7am blood draw in the cold, hard chair, I texted the few people that knew about this cycle and shared my somber news.
Work was bearable until a sweet elderly lady that I had been working with for the past few weeks came in to drop off some samples to our showroom. After doing my best to make the usual small talk, she bid me a nice day and turned to leave, but stopped just before reaching the door. She slowly turned around and asked me if I had any children.
I fought back the tears as I told her I didn't, but I sure would love too.
She stared at me a little longer, then smiled and told me she'd pray for me as she drifted gracefully out the front door, leaving me sitting there in hot mess of complete shock and self pity. I barely reached for a Kleenex in time before I lost it, running to hide in the bathroom as the dam broke loose and I realized for the first time that I was really, really, disappointed that this cycle didn't work.
I just knew I'd be pregnant this time, and I couldn't grasp the fact that I indeed wasn't.
And after a short but necessary sob fest in the bathroom, I wiped my face, adjusted my hair and headed back out to my desk, already feeling so much better just for letting my pent up emotions run free, if even for a few seconds.
And then my phone rang, and it was SIRM.
My original plan of action was never to answer it, I would have much rather allowed the bad news to run straight through to voicemail. But something inside me told me that I could handle it, so I picked up the phone and assured her I was doing well when the nurse asked me how I was. Then I politely asked her in return how she was, and she let me know that she was also doing well.
Then she told me my beta was eleven.
I don't remember how long of a pause there was after that, but I know that a million thoughts were running around as I contemplated what this meant. It could have been two seconds, two minutes, or even two hours, but it felt like an eternity to me.
She was giving me my beta number.
Because I am pregnant.
It felt like someone had just quickly stitched up my broken heart, placed a band aid over the wound, and then riped it right back open again before I even had a chance to enjoy the mend. Almost like that pure moment of bliss as they lay that warm, soft wax onto your body that's quickly interrupted by by an excruciatingly painful rip of both flesh and hair.
I asked her if realistically a baby could come out of this, and she assured me that she has indeed seen babies from beta numbers this low before. And of course after scouring the Internet for most of today I feel like I may have done more damage than good, but the overall consensus is that as long as the beta rises, doubling every forty-eight to seventy-two hours, it doesn't matter what your starting number was.
We could be in the middle of an early miscarriage, or we could have a late implanter.
Right now, all that matters is that there is life growing inside of me. God has heard our prayers and He's answered them; though it may not be the way I would have planned it-Lord knows I would have loved a positive pregnancy test and a super high beta-but for the first time in my life I am truly pregnant.
I'm not going to lie, this is hard. It's devastating to be so close, but so far away at the same time. We are rejoicing in our hearts for this new life, but we are also apprehensive to celebrate our long awaited pregnancy for fear of loosing blessing is as quickly as we found it.
God has shown us so many miracles in the last few months, giving us far more than we ever asked for when we found out that after a wildly successful final cycle, we even had two of our embryos make it to freeze. There is no doubt in my mind that He is watching over us right now, longing for us to trust Him and continue to understand that this blessing was never really ours anyway, this life inside of me belongs to Him.
And despite the anxiety and nerves of the unknown, something tells me that this newest adventure will cause our faith to increase and show us once again that God is deserving of all the glory and the praise. And what could be more special, more miraculous, than an extremely low beta that turns into a beautiful gift nine months later? After all we've witnessed this past month, how could I not be excited to see what He has in store, how He will answer this next wave of cries from us and everyone else involved?
It encourages me to hold on tight and stick around for the ride.
And pray for one more miracle.
Thank you for this new life, this tiny miracle, that you've created. We know it wasn't the doctors or any other modern medical marvel that led to this pregnancy Lord, but that Your hands alone fashioned this life and placed it exactly where it should be, when it should be.
I know You have a plan, God, and that everything happens for a reason. Please help me to glorify You, even in the midst of something this difficult, because I know that You are capable of growing this miracle and we praise You for that; weather You choose to do so or not.
But please Lord, we are asking that You do help this miracle grow, and allow us to bring a new life (or two) into this world and teach them to be a blessing to You. Thank you for all You've done, and all You are about to do,