I am very very sick of trekking down to Mothership Hospital for repeat beta HCG tests. I have now had six of them. SIX. Yes, six (6).
Admittedly this one was the epitome of How These Things Should Go. Arrive at the Early Pregnancy/Acute Gynaecology Unit. Tell the receptionist why I’m there. She sees I am not in the diary and looks back, ah, yes, I was here last week. She now knows where my file is, rescues it, and hands it to the Staff Nurse. Therefore, I’ve only just taken my coat off and sat down in the waiting room when the Staff Nurse calls me in to the exam room for the needling. (H declines to come and hold hands (oh, bless him. He is determined to be supportive, but would be more hand-held than hand-holding while the the steel was being sunk into my flesh)).
Staff Nurse is very kindly and friendly and extremely gentle with the needle, and goes over my history quickly with me while we wait for the computer to log her in so she can print out my test label. She is a little surprised that I have not started bleeding yet. She assures me that, oh, I will bleed. Hurrah. She tells me they will call me back late this evening – they are very busy – with the results.
I go home, and H goes on to work.
Staff Nurse then startles me by calling back mid-afternoon (what? Why?) with the results:
(Zombryo, darling child, what on earth are you loitering about in this distressing and nerve-shredding manner for? Shoo, I say, shoo).
Staff Nurse also tells me that while the doctors at the EPU think things are going more or less in the ‘right’ direction (AUGH), they do not wish to discharge me yet. What with the weirdness of the dates (to recap, I got a positive pregnancy test on CD 15, while bleeding quite lavishly, leading to a ‘well, was that a period or wasn’t it? Is this the same miscarriage as I had in October? (Almost certainly not, as I’d been released then with a beta of <5). When the hell did I ovulate?‘ moment of medical disorientation), they want to be absolutely sure my HCG has gone back to Officially Totally UnPregnant before they tidy my file away. So I’m to go back in two weeks for a (please God) final stabbing.
OK, fine. Fine. No, really, fine.
I need to cry and eat ice-cream now.