I really thought I was pregnant.
When my period* didn’t come as scheduled on Thursday, I couldn’t quite believe it. I’ve never been late in my life. Through the day I checked. No sign!
Friday – still no sign! Oh my God, I’m pregnant!
I had a blood test first thing Friday morning.
All through the day my excitement mounted. No sign of bleeding. I won’t believe it till I get the call from the clinic, I thought. But I did believe it. I believed it so much that I bought a dress and a loose flowing cardigan that I thought could take me from now to at least the end of the year and hide any bump. But I was sensible – they are normal clothes that look great now anyway, just in case I was being overly optimistic.
I had a hair appointment, followed by an osteo appointment to try and sort out my still-stuffed digestive system.
I was feeling so happy that I nearly blurted out my news to the hairdresser, who I barely know. I only go there because it’s cheap and I can’t afford my good hairdresser right now.
So when the clinic called, I was confused by the nurse’s tone of voice. I knew it wasn’t good news, but I there was no sign of my period, so – I must be pregnant right?
No. I’m not.
There was a level of hcG in my blood that indicated that the embryos had tried to implant. But they hadn’t. And I guess that level was still there, which was why there was no sign of my period.
What could I do, I was sitting in the hairdresser’s chair with hair colour slapped over my scalp. I couldn’t run to the loo and howl. I just had to sit there, tears streaming down my face. I couldn’t even speak when the hairdresser asked if everything was ok. I wanted to say, “I’ve just had some bad news, that’s all” but I couldn’t even get that out. I had to sit there for another 45 minutes getting my hair washed and blow dried before I could get the fuck out of there.
Thank god I had the osteo appointment afterwards – Jamie is the loveliest man and a great osteo, and really smart and he’s into yoga and alternative healing, as well as being clever enough to be applying to med school. He gave me a big, big hug and then treated me. Face down on the table and with my eyes closed I really felt like the table was moving back and forth. I had to keep opening my eyes and looking down to the floor to make sure I was stationary. Jamie said I was in shock and after the treatment gave me some Bach remedy for shock and put me in a separate room so I could do what I needed to do.
I really thought it would work. I was so confident and positive. I meditated, visualised. Did yoga and ate well. I felt – or thought I felt – calm about the whole thing. Not stressed or clinging or desperate. I really thought it would work.
And I’m sure this is nothing like what a miscarriage feels like, but I feel a bit that way nonetheless, because really thought it would work, and I really thought I was pregnant.
Right now I’m really sad and disappointed. I think I’ll try again, I feel I owe it to myself. When I first put this plan in motion I thought I’d give it three goes, but that was when I thought I would get enough embryos to freeze for three goes. I certainly didn’t plan on paying for three attempts. But once is not enough, as they say in the classics (James Bond anyway. I was in a Bond film once – true story). I’ll go and see the doctor sometime this week, and work out what Plan B, Take 2 is.
I went for a swim this morning (at Bronte, that’s the pic), then to yoga. I was reminded again how powerful yoga is to work emotions out of your body, because if you don’t work them out, they get stuck, and so does your body and so does your mind. Sometimes they get so stuck they make you sick. And I was reminded again that the discipline – of whatever it is – getting up early to go for a swim when I would have rather stayed in bed – makes you do things that ultimately make you feel better than short term pleasures.
PS. I’m also really sad I may not have the chance to choose the same donor again. I was a bit in love with the idea of that donor’s baby. A lot in love.
PPS. My period came yesterday morning. At least it seems to have sorted out my digestive issues. The bitch.
* Note that I just can’t use the abbreviations and euphemisms so common on blogs and forums such as these. It’s not Auntie Flow, or AF, I’ve never called it such a school girl thing in my life (mind you, I’m quite happy to call it “the bitch” on this occasion). And this is not a BFN – big fat negative – I’m just not pregnant. I’m an editor and writer, and as an editor I’m a bit anal about plain English, saying what you mean, not obscuring, spelling things out. Euphemisms give me the shits anyway. Rant over.