For 96 glorious, amazing, and wonderful hours I was pregnant. For 96 hours my husband and I got to talk about names, and nursery ideas, and who the baby would look like. For 96 hours it seemed as if we had won our 16 month battle with infertility - we had our miracle baby. For 96 hours we had a glimpse of a happiness I had only read about.
I wasn't supposed to be pregnant, my hormone levels earlier in my RE cycle had resulted in the IUI being cancelled on CD 3. So I ate sushi, drank caffeine, and enjoyed a few cocktails with friends while out of town. When I got back from my vacation I was a little queasy but put it all down to slight overindulgance and traveling. Eventually my brain, and fertility application, alerted me to what might be causing my constant nausea and fatique. Sure enough on Thursday morning two gorgeous pink lines showed up on a HPT - resulting in a loud exclamation of joy followed by panic. A quick trip to the doctor, and a long wait for blood results, confirmed that we were indeed pregnant with a BETA of 186. A second BETA was scheduled for the following Monday morning at 7AM.
Then it was over. A phone call, new blood work numbers, and the crash of reality. So for the past 24 hours I have been waiting for the bleeding to start, waiting for the final confirmation that our 96 hour rainbow baby was (is?) gone, and waiting to come to grips with the finality of the situation.
And it sucks