Thank you thank you thank you all for the out-pouring of support on yesterday’s post. It meant so much to me. You’re all wonderful.
This morning’s pee-stick (of course I peed on another stick. What do you take me for?) was much fainter. There, and there before the magic ten minutes were up, but fainter.
I also peed on a First Response Early Response test that has been hanging about in the bathroom for over a year, and it came up negative. I staved off a full-blown freak-out by the POAS website, which has FRER’s sensitivity cut-off as 25 mIU (new, oval window version). If I was barely triggering a 10 mIU stick yesterday morning, and HCG doubles every 48 hours, then, well, I’ve just wasted a FRER, as it wouldn’t have shown anything until Wednesday even in the best case scenario.
Bugger. They’re not cheap.
(On the ‘be brave, little Piglet!’ front, it’s 11dpo, and my temperature has not dropped. I feel sick, but that could be nerves (is certainly nerves)).
Anyway, as H pointed out, this doesn’t change The Plan. The Plan is, email (and, if I start to hyperventilate, telephone) The Professor’s clinic, letting them know what has happened and asking them when they’d like me to go in. Go to work. Tell trusted and thoughtful office manager who deals with everyone’s sick leave and trusted and kindly line-manager that I am negotiating a medical… issue… and may have to disappear at short notice to visit the clinic. Go to the office Christmas party this evening and drink a lot of grapefruit juice.
Adopt brave and insouciant demeanor, stiffen upper lip, sinews, and spine, imitate the action of the tiger, summon up the… NO! NO! We categorically DO NOT summon up the blood!