It’s been more than a year since I started my (mis)adventures in reproduction. Last April, I was convinced that I would be pregnant by July of 2010. When July rolled around and I found out I wasn’t ovulating, I re-evaluated my expectations and thought, “Surely, by October.” Then, October rolled around and I discovered a 7 cm cyst was taking up residence on my right ovary. Following surgery that month, I thought, “Maybe by Christmas.”
Christmas came and went and shortly after New Years, I found out I was pregnant. Now before you squeal, I should warn you that there’s not a happy ending. Read on.
After seeing two pink lines, one of which was very faint, on January 2, I phoned my doctor to ask about what to do next. She ordered beta HCG levels drawn 48 hours apart. The first level came back at 31. The second level came back at 29. Wrong direction. HCG should double every 48 hours in early pregnancy. I was officially diagnosed as having had a chemical pregnancy and lost that pregnancy on my 30th birthday.
Fed up, I started taking Clomid, a pill to induce ovulation, at the end of February, had a lot sex and thought, “This is the magic pill. Surely this month will be it.” Big. Fat. Fail.
Only 5 weeks from a road race, I took the month of March “off” and didn’t take Clomid. I ran my ten-mile race and a week later, got another positive pregnancy test. That was a little over a week and half ago. On Easter Sunday, I started bleeding.
That, my friends, makes three losses in 12 months. I’ve been awarded the less than coveted diagnosis of Recurrent Pregnancy Loss and have officially qualified for a referral to a reproductive endocrinologist.
More updates to come as we take this road less traveled.
As a side note, it’s National Infertility Awareness Week – certainly not a Hallmark holiday folks but if you know someone affected by this issue, send her a card this week and let her know you’re thinking about her.