The Old Switcherooni

I spent the night at my parents house last night. It was extraordinarily nice. My mom was making some baked shrimp dish with fennel and feta and when I expressed concern about the double f-f, she made me a special version for me. When we first started this whole trying to conceive journey, I was cavalier. I was going to eat anything. Climb ladders. Do heavy lifting. Since it hasn't been easy to get to the positive beta, and with each failed cycle, I've become more cautious. Sure, everything I've read says go ahead with the fennel, but avoid the oil or seed. I'll just avoid the whole plant, thank you very much. As for those ladders or lifting? Yeah. Right. (I still think I'll eat blue veiny cheese though. I can't be expected to give manhattans and cheese.)

I also got to have a whole bed to myself, and as some people know, I have a proclivity for sleeping like an X. I love to sleep like an X. And my parents have a ceiling fan. It was all good.

The hurdles came this morning when my poor mother had to do the PIO (progesterone in oil) shot. If you aren't familiar with the shot, it's a long needle. Intramuscular. Ouch. And it's scary. I remember when Partner and I started all this monkey business. The first IM shot was daunting, to say the least. I think we both cried a little. So my mom, with no training, had to do the shot and she did spectacular. There was a lot of talk about whether or not she'd need a little shot of vodka before doing it, but she managed free and sober. Later at lunch, she did order a healthy glass of red wine.

Then I went for my repeat beta at the main hub of clinic. It was more crowded than I'd ever seen it. I talked to a rookie who was dying to pee and let her know everything that would happen, including my favorite-not-so favorite part of getting to pee while lying on the table in the OR. She seemed like she could be a woman of my heart, because while she was repulsed by the idea, she alternatively loved the idea. I did tell her if she had to go that bad, she should let a little out. She was a sweetheart and even though I'll (hopefully) never see her again, my fingers are crossed for her.

Finally, my mom and I went to lunch at "the club," where cell phones are expressly verboten. I carried mine in brazenly. Even though it was only about 1:30, and that was far too early for the clinic to call with repeat beta numbers, I thought it would behoove me to have the phone anyway. And my suspicion was rewarded, because I did get the call as we sat on the patio.

272-- That's what the nurse told me. 272. I was happy, mind you, but still worried. It didn't quite double. And after the last cycle, I was a little worried we were starting to march down the same path of not-quite doubling, not quite-doubling, stagnation, and finally failure. I know! 272 is still a good number, and it almost there. I got the requisite "Don't-worry-we-look-for-doubling-every-48-to-72-hours" talk. I tried to convince myself. I then called Partner, flaunting the no mobile rules even more. In my book, this constituted an emergency. She was pleased with 272 also, but I could hear a little worry in her voice also.

Later I sat in the parking lot of Costco and talked to youngest brother N for a good long while. It put me off schedule, so when I finally got off the horn, I raced into Costco without my phone. Stupid. Never, ever go anywhere without your phone when you are cycling. Even if you think you already know your beta number. Because when I got back to the car, I had missed four-- four!-- phone calls. I was only in there for 20 minutes! (Quickest Costco trip ever, and yet I still managed to fondle the baby clothes.)

First missed call? RE office. Second, third, and fourth calls respectively? Partner.

Who freaked out? Me. And who to call first? RE clinic had technically closed 35 minutes prior, so I decided Partner. Who promptly gave me a lecture about why didn't I have my phone because what if it was an emergency and I said in one breath "Is it an emergency because I just went into Costco and there were four missed calls and the clinic was one of them and did they call you and is everything okay?"

"They messed up our beta number," she said to me, and I felt my heart drop. "They switched things around by accident."

"Ohmygodohmygod." I said. I was driving by this point and felt myself get dizzy. I thought perhaps I should pull over. "What is it? What's wrong? Is it good or bad?"

"272 was your progesterone number" she said. "The correct beta number is 338."

And then I yelled FUCK so loudly people in cars stopped next to me looked at the car. I pumped the air like a 14 year kid. I nearly wept. I've done it. Doubled. More than doubled. The afternoon suddenly seemed that much brighter.

I'm telling you-- Can it get any better today? It's Friday, my house windows are open, the cat is lying like a noodle in the doorway, Partner cleaned the house this morning, friends are coming over for dinner, Olu Dara is playing on the stereo, and my fucking beta number actually doubled.