My beta yesterday morning was 5. I expected it to be low, but the 5 kind of took my breath away for a moment. I didn't cry. It was sort of a shocked amazement. The first thing I said was, "So I don't have to go for more blood work, right? 5 is low enough?" Yes, 5 is low enough.
I was supposed to have an ultrasound today. We're still going in to meet with the doctor, but this is now a consult. What happens now? I don't know. I've had three losses. After my second I was told they don't start really looking into until three. So here we are at three and I guess I'll find out this afternoon.
Today I feel sick to my stomach, bloated, gross, and gassy. Hopefully since I've stopped the progeserone suppositories, that will get out of my system and everything will really get going. Pregnancy over? Get it the fuck out.
Yesterday's miscarriage . . . after the jump (in case you want to skip the gory details).
When the nurse called I was at home. I had gone into work, but the cramping became too much after 90 minutes. I was sitting at the front desk and felt like I had to go to the bathroom, so I asked a coworker to cover for me. I didn't feel like I could stand let alone really walk. While in the bathroom I realized I couldn't stay at the front desk I was in so much pain. When I came back to the office I asked the woman in charge of the front desk schedule if she could take over for me because I really didn't feel well and had to go home. I felt like I was going to start crying, so luckily she didn't ask for any details. But she had to go to the bathroom first and then she had to gather some stuff up. I was pretty sure I was going to die because of the pain and I wanted to die at home.
I ran into my student worker on the way out and tried to tell her nicely and quickly that I was sorry but I didn't have anything for her, so she would have to just entertain herself because I felt awful and had to get home.
Once in my car I turned up some loud and fast music and just yelled "fuck" the entire way home. Sometimes I would take a break to beg, "Please just let me get home. I just want to get home. Please just let me get home." Don't ask me who I was begging.
My husband still hadn't left for work. He knew I was coming home and was trying to decide whether he should go in later or go in then and try to get everything done early. While he waffled I went to the bathroom and that's when a fairly good sized "clot" plopped into the toilet. Literally plopped. He was standing in the hallway and heard it. Immediately I felt better.
After that I decided to go to bed. He decided to go to work. And while I had some cramping off and on, it was nothing like what I felt before the clot. So at that point I really knew beyond any shadow of any doubt. I called the nurses and left a message. After a brief description of what happened I said, "I'll just wait to hear from you with the blood results, but I'm sure I know what they'll be."