The first beta hcg was 9 - not good. My doctor is reserving judgement until we see what happens on Wednesday, but it's looking pretty grim. I'm thinking that if I was getting positives last week, the hcg must have been higher than 9 at some point, leading me to believe that it's already falling. Pregnancy #6 = epic fail.
I hate that I keep bringing such pain into Hubby's life. He's devastated. I can see it in the set of his mouth, the droop of his shoulders. And his eyes - so, so sad. It breaks my heart that he keeps having to deal with this shit because of MY dysfunctional lady parts. Sunday, Father's Day, he kept touching my belly, and smiling, and it was so sweet that I knew it couldn't last. My life just doesn't work that way.
The doctor called me at work to give me the test results, and the waterworks started. I know my coworkers must know something is up, but luckily I got to hide in the office on the phone with tech support, so I could duck under the desk and play with wires whenever a fresh batch of tears appeared. I can't control them. They just pop up out of nowhere. I don't know how I'm going to function today. Especially if we have any preggo clients come in.
The sick thing is, I think I might want to try again. My name is Wifey, and I'm a miscarriage-holic. I have not yet fully implemented my straight edge, organic only lifestyle. Of course, I blame myself and those couple of beers I had after ovulation. I keep thinking that this whole trying to stay knocked up thing is like some crazy math equation: add organic everything, subtract pesticides, beer, sugar, carbs and anything else I remotely enjoy, multiply by a couple of doses of going to church (even though I don't believe in god anymore) and at the end, we'll get =baby. I know myself well enough to know that I won't be able to accept it if I feel like I haven't given 100% effort. I don't want to wake up some day 10, 15 years from now and wish that we had just given it one more try. I think I must be insane.
2 good things: Damn, do I have a strong marriage. We've been through the ringer and have only come out tougher and more in love. I just wish I could make him a dad, because he'd be a fab one.
The other good thing: some lawn care sales guy approached Hubby when he was out mowing today. He was in such a mood because of dealing with all this, I guess the thought of trying to wrangle the jungle in our backyard into submission sent him over the edge, and he signed a contract for professional weed control. I'm not thrilled about the whole chemical thing, but if you saw the weeds in our yard you'd know why we need to do this. They just won't die (unlike the babies in my uterus). We have a six foot privacy fence back there, and some of this shit is beginning to grow over the top of the fence. My soil, it seems, is fertile beyond belief. Oh, the irony.