I thought about putting an inspirational infertility quote here, but instead I'll share that once I got out of a moving vehicle while on Clomid. I was hormonal, enraged and hulking out. I was a lurched animal in a cage.  Once I escaped, I walked for blocks while my husband slowly drove next to me. Eventually I cried it out, calmed down, and finally got back in the car. He never mentioned it again.

"I think you have the wrong number."

I realize it's been a solid six weeks since my last post. I didn't forget to write. I didn't quit. I didn't go on a hormonally induced rage and get locked away in a psych ward (although that would have been my guess if I were you).

The truth is, I didn't know what or how to write about the past six weeks, so I simply avoided it all together. When I don't want to deal with something, may it be confrontation, positive or negative attention, or uncertainty on how to handle something, I avoid it completely. It's really counterproductive. 

So in the spirit of facing things head on, let's rewind to six weeks ago when I was anxiously awaiting my blood test. 

In my last post, which feels like two years ago, I had gotten three positive at home pregnancy tests, but had to wait two more days for the blood test to actually be able to tell if it was a viable pregnancy.

The night before my blood test was a waste of lying down. I was fooling myself to think I'd sleep for more than a minute. And that's about how much sleep I got, a minute or two.

I got to Magee early on Friday morning. My blood test was scheduled for 8:00, but I was aggressively busting in the doors at 7:30 am. I figured the earlier my blood test was, the sooner they'd call.  

I had my blood drawn by one of my favorite nurses who told me they were all praying for me. She let me know I wouldn't be getting a call until after 1:00. I had to wait from 8:00 a.m. until 1:00 p.m., five hours of torture. 

Those five hours might as well have been an eternity. I saw it as a prison sentence. "Okay, we'll call with your pregnancy results in 6-36 months. Meet your cellmates, anxiety and nausea. Good luck."

I got home and tried to keep myself busy. I tried on dresses for my cousin's wedding which threw me into a sobbing mess on the floor. Note to self; trying on clothes when you're carrying around an extra 12 lbs. from hormones and water weight is NEVER a good distraction. I tried to eat, but couldn't stomach anything. If I'm unable to get calories down my gullet, then you know there's something going on. I'm not one to miss a meal. 

Around 12:00 I went to the bathroom, wiped, and saw bright red blood. Up until this point it had only been spotting light brown. Now it was red and there was a lot more of it. I lost all hope. I fucking knew it was a chemical pregnancy. I was upset with myself for getting my hopes up. I should have known this wasn't going to work again. 

My phone rang at 1:07 pm. Seven minutes past the five hour wait I had endured. I almost threw up on myself when I saw the number on my phone. I took a deep breath, shaking uncontrollably, and answered the phone. 

"Hello?"  (I think i was able to get out the word, chances are I just made a weird, small noise.)

"Heather. It's Maria at Magee."

I couldn't read her. Was she happy? She didn't sound thrilled to be calling. She sounded pretty even keeled. This wasn't good.

"Results came back. It's positive. You're pregnant."


"Are you sure?"

"Yes! Congratulations!"

After questioning her over and over, making sure she didn't mix up blood samples, or dial the wrong number, I stood up on the couch and let out the most obnoxious scream/wail. And, again, almost puked on myself.

I told her how I had been bleeding and she assured me it was fine. She informed me that my estrogen was low and that I would need to start taking estrogen twice a day, asap. My instructions were to continue progesterone, start the estrogen and come in on that Tuesday to make sure my blood levels were continuing to rise,

I hung up the phone and sat there in disbelief. I am completely aware that this is what we've been trying for these past three years. I believed it was going to work at some point. I just couldn't believe it was this time. Somewhere along the way I had lost the vision of what it would be like to actually hear those words. It was getting harder and harder to picture myself pregnant. I was so used to getting bad news, that I genuinely didn't know what to do with myself.

Michael raced home from work and we just stood in the living room, hugging and crying. I could actually forever live in that moment.

So here I am 10 weeks pregnant. I have been discharged from The Center for Fertility and Reproductive Endocrinology. I am now anxiously awaiting the end of my first trimester. Even though I have 24 hour nausea, I'm unable to eat anything that's not the color beige, and I can no longer zip any of my jeans, I still can't believe it.

When I started this blog it was to shed light on the infertility experience. I promised to give a completely honest, raw and uncut story of my reality. And though I'm shocked that it happened on only the second round of IVF, getting pregnant is a part of my experience.

Along with being pregnant after struggling with infertility comes a whole new list of anxieties, flip outs, and hormonal side effects. This experience is far from over, so my story continues...

I’m baaaack…

Someone get me off this ride before I puke.