So I was pregnant when I shouldn’t be. And I felt guilty. Several dear friends had recently suffered miscarriages and many were waiting for their own positive pregnancy test after years of infertility. The guilt of having a near miraculous pregnancy ate me up.
From 4 weeks to 14 weeks, I made a 3 hour round-trip drive to our Reproductive Endo (RE for short) every week or 2 to have blood drawn, put my feet in those stirrups, and ensure our baby was growing. Every visit felt like a test: “Am I made for this?”
Even though my hCG was positive, my progesterone and estrogen were lower than the RE felt comfortable with so they immediately put me on pills and suppositories. We did that for a couple of weeks but my progesterone still wasn’t really budging. Baby was growing and staying pretty close inside the range of growth they needed (3 days +/-) but without those hormones, this pregnancy might not make it.
I asked for progesterone shots. And regretted it on day 1. See, my husband works nights and I work a normal 8 to 5. So my ideal time for a shot was right before bed. I pulled out the needle and filled it with the progesterone sludge. I read the tips and tricks online before so I had warmed it for half an hour on my body and knew that I needed to walk around right after injecting it.
I stood in the kitchen with the needle to that perfect spot on my butt bending like a contortionist. The sludge barely moved as I pressed it into me. I was halfway done when the room started to spin. I couldn’t breathe with my body bent like this. I tried laying on the sofa and giving it there. No luck.
I was not made for this. So the Mr. and I started meeting up before bed so he could deliver my shots. Romance at its finest.
Within a few days of starting the shots, my progesterone levels shot up. And so did the morning sickness. Three different nausea medications and a boat load of home remedies and I was still dehydrated and running for the nearest toilet/sink/trash can/roadside.
I was not made for this.