After my shower I installed a maxi pad. There wasn't any more blood, but I figured it was just a matter of time; I might as well be prepared. Then I went off to get tested in what seemed like an excercise in futility. In addition to the maxi pad I was wearing my "My Husband Loves Me Anyway" pendant. Its too sparkly for daytime wear, really, but I needed it.
I went to work. I've been on the brink of tears all morning, but hey, I'm leaving this job on Friday, so its probably not a big deal that I'm getting nothing done. I got lunch. I got a coke to go with. My work has free soda, but the selection doesn't stretch to heretic coke (caffine-free coke), so I had been drinking ginger ale. I figured what the heck, caffine now wouldn't change the results. I sat down at my desk to eat. After two sips of the illicit caffinated coke the phone rang.
The tone of the nurse's voice immediately told me that this was bad news. I was expecting bad news. It was not, however, exactly the bad news I was expecting. The test was positive, but the number was 8. Anything under a 5 is negative, and at this point they expect a number over 100. The nurse said to discontinue the progesterone and come back on Friday for more blood work. I asked to talk to Grace. I didn't want to give up the progesterone... well, I basically didn't want to give up on even the most marginal of positives. This is as pregnant as I've ever been before.
Grace called back less than 15 minutes later. She is sure that this is not going to work out. If it were just late implantation they'd still expect to see a number over 20. Best case scenario: its a chemical pregnancy that will resolve itself soon. Worst case scenario: its ectopic. Lovely. My risk of ectopics is increased by both the fact that I used IVF and the fact that I have endometriosis. Oh well. My tubes may be allegedly clear, but its not like they've shown any evidence of actually working.
Of course I am completely insane. I'd quit drinking the coke after the first phone call. I went back to the kitchen and got a ginger ale. I'd also gotten permission from Grace to continue the progesterone. It won't actually hurt me. I'm just way too stubborn to give up, and stopping the progesterone is giving up, even though I know that this is almost certainly not the little embryo that could. I just can't kill it myself by stopping its support mechanism, it has to go splat on its own.
So, there you have it. I'm pregnant, kind of, but not for very much longer.