I was looking forward to posting some happy news here after our ultrasound this morning. Several people commented, based on my betas, that maybe I was carrying twins. I confess, the idea of a Ricochet AND a Droopalong thrilled me.
At the very least, I was hoping to say "all is well, good strong heartbeat!"
Sorry to disappoint.
I woke up at 4:30, nervous as hell, and couldn't really bring myself to eat anything. Hence, nausea. Although I took the lack of actual vomiting as a bad sign. Since two of our local highways are broken, we had to take public transportation, which took twice as long as driving and did nothing to quell the waves of nausea (the dude with the nasty BO didn't help matters, either).
We waited half an hour before they called us. There was an infant in the waiting room. I started bawling. I became convinced that it was going to be bad news.
We finally got shown to a room, where we waited some more.
Finally, the NP came in. Not one we'd met before. The ultrasound showed a sac. A big old sac. After some squinting and maneuvering, she managed to get into focus a little blob on the side of the sac. Then she asked, "You're 5 weeks, right?"
"No. Six." (Dammit, something's wrong! Something's wrong! It's too small!)
She finally managed to measure the blob, and it measured 6 weeks, one day, which is more or less exactly where I'm at, gestationally speaking. She said she could see "some fetal heart movement." I said, in full panic mode by this point, "We should be able to see a heartbeat by now!"
She hemmed, she hawed, she furrowed her brow. (I hate brow furrowing. It always means something bad. Something's wrong, I just know it!)
At that point, I started to cry.
The NP said, "Everything looks ok to me, but I can't really see a heartbeat and you should be able to get an answer. Let me check with radiology."
She left. I cried harder. A nurse came by and shooed us back out into the waiting room.
After another eternal wait, the NP poked her head out again. Didn't bring us back in, just kind of shouted across the waiting room, "Radiology is swamped. They'll call you and set something up for tomorrow."
I got up and crossed the room. "Should we be worried?" I asked.
"Everything looks ok to me. They just have better equipment in radiology, so you can get a more definite answer. They'll call you and set something up."
Yes, I know that fetal heartbeats are visible at 6 weeks only about half the time.
Yes, I know that the fetal measurement is a really good sign.
Yes, I know I'm being a neurotic twit.
I just didn't realize how utterly traumatized I still am after losing a pregnancy at 11 weeks and being unable to get past the beta stage for more than a year after that. After being told I am old, my eggs are scrambled, and our chances of a successful pregnancy are slightly less than those of rolling a seven in craps.
I don't know how to relax and enjoy this process. I don't even know how not to freak myself out. I tried yelling, "Calm the fuck down!" at myself, but oddly enough, that seemed to have the opposite effect. Large quantities of bourbon and hitting myself over the head with a 2x4 are, according to the latest medical literature, contraindicated during pregnancy.
So, I guess all I can do is recognize that the next couple of months are going to be traumatic and anxiety ridden, no matter what.
Fasten your seatbelts, my friends. It's going to be a bumpy ride.