I already know this will take some time to write, so a multi-parter it is. Plus, we're trying out a highly recommended music class tonight (no more gymnasstics - WOOT!), so I don't have a ton of time.
Oh, while I'm thinking about it, someone mentioned that maybe the instructor wasn't pure eeevil since she did do Special Olympics and all. I felt the same way! But then something hit me. If she stopped the class before due to low participation, then how come when she re-started the "Special Needs Class" in the fall, she didn't have the support/backing of SO? I mean, why not, right? They paid for it before. Just something I've been thinking about. I think there's way more to this story. If I get some interesting info, I'll share.
We've got about two more months, give or take, before the baby arrives. Um, yikes?
I haven't really talked about the pregnancy much here...for a few reasons.
First and foremost, I know what it's like to want to be pregnant and not be able to have it just happen. I would never want to lead to anyone feeling bad because of that. Which, I know, it's unavoidable and people dealing with infertility understand that other people have babies, but I'm sensitive to it. Because I've been there.
Having this baby was a process. It's no secret that after Playette, I wasn't hardly thinking of adding another kid anytime soon. I was too busy being sad, feeling screwed over, and about a million other emotions. I couldn't imagine having another baby. And then, honestly, I felt like I blinked and she was three. How did that happen?! So, we decided that it was time to try. Except that I know my body and how it doesn't like to cooperate. Before waiting too long, I involved my doctor. We did test after test before he finally agreed that maybe I knew what I was talking about regarding not ovulating. He said that he could put me on Clomid, after already trying some other alternatives with no success.
And then BD was deployed. I cried and cried because I realized that by the time he got back, I would be over 35 when/if the baby came. To me, that represented a whole new can of worms because not only did I have a child with Ds, but I'd also be classified as AMA and I was devastated at the idea of possibly being treated poorly by medical professionals. Again.
Close to the time he was due home, I went back to the doctor and said I was ready for my prescription. I tried one cycle of the Clomid, in the midst of our move. And nothing happened.
In a new place, I had to start from scratch. My old doc never did forward my records. I have no idea why. So I went and found a new primary care physician who referred me out to a fertility specialist, which was denied, and then I was sent to the military hospital to be seen by the Reproductive Endocrinology Department.
They were a lot more involved than my doctor in CA had been. They tested me. They tested BD. I had an HSG. I was given Clomid again and told that we would attempt IUI in July.
You know, because of my age. There was no time to waste. Gag.
But then you know what happened? The day I was to go in for an ultrasound post-Clomid fell over the July 4th weekend. And there was no way they'd allow me to proceed without first making sure that I didn't have a zillion follicles.
I was rescheduled for August.
I was heartbroken.
I sat and analyzed when I would take my Provera so that it wouldn't run into the situation of being in San Antonio for the NDSC conference when I needed to be home for more testing.
When I finally thought I had it all figured out, I started the Provera.
That weekend, I went to take a physical for the reserves. It was a Sunday.
A couple of days later, I checked in to make sure that all of my paperwork was complete and that the results from those seven mystery vials of blood they took were a-ok.
And that's when I found out that one of those mystery vials was for a pregnancy test.
I will never forget that moment. She said, "And you know you're pregnant, right, ma'am?"
"You didn't know?"
I finally asked if she'd ever seen a case of a blood test being wrong.
"Never," she said.
So I called the RE department and told them what I found out. They scheduled me to come in the following Monday for another test.
My first HCG level was a 13. The second was 836, I believe.
I was really pregnant.
And, apparently, I was going to make a fantastic designated driver in San Antonio.
No margaritas por mi.
But, right before all of that, something really interesting happened. It wouldn't be brought to my attention for many months.
I'll tell you all about that next time.