I woke up at midnight, Sunday night, and went to make one of my usual evening pee excursions. Only when I looked down, I found an oval of red blood, about the length and width of the top two joints in my little finger. When I dabbed at myself with toilet paper I found watery bright-red blood. Ad I just kept thinking - two miscarriages, two Father's Days in a row. This is actually going to happen. I woke up my husband, then remembered, in a blind panic, that I had fallen asleep and forgotten my progesterone dose, which I took immediately (two hours after my usual time). I called the OB on call at my clinic, which as I think I mentioned before, is at Big State Hospital, so naturally, the person who answered the phone was probably around 23. To her credit, she started to tell me that there were several non-m/c-related reasons for bleeding, but then - in a moment that encapsulates the infertile experience - she got paged by labor and delivery and had to get off the phone.
I think it's fair to say that I sat up from midnight until about 6 a.m., visiting blogs where angels fear to tread - you know, the ones where you hear about someone's ninth or tenth miscarriage, and it just feels like inevitable disaster is staring you right in the face. I read that "bleeding can be normal, unless it's bright red, that's usually trouble" and that "progesterone can mask problems and make you hold on to a pregnancy that should be over;" all statements whose truth I could not and still cannot testify to in any way, but which were like emotional lead weights on two hours of sleep.
Fortunately, I was able to page the RE on call in the morning and ask him to work me in early before the usual round of ultrasounds, which he kindly did. And everything was fine. A fetus remains in my womb, heart still beating...a bizarre little white apparition that kind of resembled Orko from the old He-Man cartoons, but I digress.
It all brought me right back to those old feelings: you're not normal, you can't actually do this, your luck will never hold out, don't get too comfortable. Don't expect anything from your body, because it will always fail you.
Thus, I declare now in writing what I have always thought in my mind: if I get this baby out, both of us in one piece, I swear I will never forget what it's like to be part of the Subfertile Nation. Fight the power, bitches.
You can't see me but I have a fist in the air.