I started spotting on Friday. Maybe spotting’s the wrong word to call it. I wiped and there was some discoloration on my toilet paper. This continued off and on throughout the weekend. My friends said it was probably nothing: either an irritation from my suppository, old blood, just a fluke, etc. I was able to convince myself of that, as well. I did everything I was supposed to do. I’ve abstained from caffeine, didn’t go in lake water, didn’t go in pool water, no baths, etc.
So, I went to bed on Sunday anxiously awaiting the next day. When I woke up on Monday, I was spotting a bit more and just was devastated. I assumed that it was definitely over. I texted everyone and told them it was done and to not text me later. Justin and I laid around and he held me while I cried and debated on skipping work.
But, either way, I had to get up to do the blood test, so I got in the shower and started getting ready. I reminded myself that all I would do at home is cry and/or engage in some type of unhealthy self-medicating ritual, so I got ready for work.
I went to the doctor and she drew my blood. I spoke again about my spotting and told her I had been feeling so positive up until then. She told me not to worry, then sent me on my way. My blood was crazy today and started dripping everywhere. My arm was like a small murder scene as I drove the twelve minutes from the doctor to my work. And I waited. And cried. And “got it together.” And waited. And cried.
Then, they called. And she said: I have good news for you. To which I replied: Are you sure it’s mine? She said that she was so excited that if she could do a cartwheel she would and that my HCG levels were 108 and anything above 50 is considered to be PREGNANT. I go back on Wednesday morning to ensure that my levels are doubling. For now, more waiting and more, new fears.