And then the drama began.

After letting our families in on our happy news, I decided to email my RE and let him know too. Even though I wasn't pregnant due to a fertility treatment, I was still technically under his care, as I had medication ordered and was getting ready to begin another treatment cycle when this happened. So, I emailed him and filled him in and secretly hoped that he'd want me to come in and do bloodwork because I really couldn't imagine waiting until I was 8 weeks along to go to my OB's office for a first visit, like "normal" pregnant people do.

I was in luck. Dr. P. emailed me back right away and congratulated me, and then said that he would definitely still like to monitor me. He asked that I come in for bloodwork the next day.

Long time readers of my blog might recall that I didn't have the best experience with early pregnancy bloodwork when pregnant with Camden. That might be a bit of an understatement. To give a super brief summary, my hCG levels did not double as they're supposed to with Camden, and my RE had a suspicion that the pregnancy might be ectopic. And all I could do was wait until I was far enough along to have an ultrasound. I am a terrible waiter. Obviously (and thankfully) it all worked out in the end and I have a beautiful little 2 year old to show for it. But, man- those were some tough days in the beginning. You can read the full story here.

So, you can probably understand that, while I was glad to be having bloodwork done, I was also quite nervous. I went in the next day and a nurse called only a couple of hours later with the results. My hCG level was great-- sky high, in fact. I breathed a sigh of relief. Then, I heard it: "But..." There was a freakin' but. I braced myself.

"But," she continued, "Your progesterone level is low....it's a 6.8. That's quite a bit lower than we like to see...." She mentioned that Dr. P wanted me to start taking progesterone suppositories ASAP and I kind of tuned the rest of the conversation out. As soon as we hung up, I consulted Dr. Google about low progesterone. Big mistake. It's not a pretty Google search. Every site screamed out to me that low progesterone is often a strong predictor of early miscarriage. Most doctors like your level to be at least a 10, but prefer it to be over 20. In an effort to be reasonable and not believe everything I read just because it's on the internet (imagine that), I emailed Dr. P about my test results and asked for his opinion. He wrote back almost immediately (love that about him) and confirmed my online research: low progesterone is, in fact, a red flag for early miscarriage. "Time will tell", he wrote. And I knew he was right. There was nothing I could do but wait a few more days and go back in for some more bloodwork. Have I mentioned how much I hate waiting?

When I got the call about my bloodwork results a few days later, I couldn't even bring myself to answer my phone. I knew it would go to voicemail, and I knew they would leave a message with the results. I had given them permission. I'd rather listen than talk, I decided. When I called into my voicemail and heard Dr. P's voice talking to me (instead of a nurse), I knew the news wasn't great. And I listened cautiously as he told me that my progesterone had improved a bit....BUT. There it was again-- the dreaded "but". "But your hCG levels didn't double. So, that leaves the status of this pregnancy in question..." He continued on to tell me that the pregnancy might be a) normal b) an unhealthy pregnancy that was going to miscarry or c) ectopic. I immediately flashed back to the beginning of my pregnancy with Camden. Dr. P ended the voicemail by telling me, once again, that only time would tell and we'd have to wait a week until I was far enough along to do an ultrasound. Let me tell you: that week felt like an eternity.

When we arrived for my ultrasound a week later, another doctor in the practice greeted us and asked me about the date of my last period. She then determined that I was 6 weeks along, and switched on the ultrasound machine. "Okay," she said, "What I'm seeing here is a very early pregnancy. There's a gestational sac, and there's a yolk sac." And that was it. She switched off the screen and printed out a picture for us.

I felt confused. "When should we see the fetal pole? Or the heartbeat?"

She was very matter-of-fact: "If you really are 6 weeks along, we should've seen the fetal pole today."

She mentioned that I could have ovulated late, my cycles could be different than what's "average", that at least the pregnancy was in my uterus and wasn't ectopic, that the worst thing that could happen now was that it wouldn't progress, and on and on.

"Come back in a week," she told us, "And we'll know more." Yep-- I had to wait another week to know if I was really and truly pregnant once again.

This time, I didn't even get upset. I was pretty numb. I was so unbelievably sick of waiting around. To me, waiting is worse than knowing, even if the news is bad. All I wanted was to know something so that I could allow myself to process what was happening and start to move forward, one way or another. But all I could do was wait.

It was around this time that the spotting began. First, just a few pink spots, then a little heavier. Sometimes I'd go an entire day without spotting; sometimes, I'd spot all day for days in a row. You can imagine what I believed about the status of the pregnancy by this point. Still, I didn't call my RE's office, because I knew there was nothing further they could do.

The day before my next ultrasound, I had my heaviest spotting of all. I told Matt, my mom, and my sister that I would be genuinely surprised if this pregnancy was viable. Matt remained optimistic (as always) as we headed into our appointment the next day.

Yet another doctor in the practice bounded into the ultrasound room and yelled, "Congratulations!" as a greeting. I thanked him hesitantly and then went over my history with him a bit. "Oh," he said sheepishly, "I guess I should've read your entire file before I walked in. I just saw 'pregnant' and came in the room." Um, yeah.

So, he began the ultrasound and pointed out the same things we had seen before: gestational sac and yolk sac. I braced myself as he turned the screen towards me a bit more. "And there," he said, "is the little heartbeat." I couldn't help it-- I started crying. Out of disbelief, out of relief, out of happiness, out of gratitude. I reached out for Matt's hand and we listened excitedly for our due date: August 23rd (later changed to August 29th).

And there you have it: our dramatic beginning of pregnancy. Seems like my children have a knack for stressing their mama out in their early in-utero days! Hopefully this means they'll be keeping the drama to a minimum as teenagers.