Once again, the heavens listened. For my 3rd blood draw, I begged and pleaded for some number over 500. That's doubling plus some. As long as my progesterone stayed steady, I would be happy, I promised. Another early morning drive up Mopac for blood draw #3. I feel so out of place out there on the highway, sandwiched in between the morning commuters, cell phones at ear, briefcase for a passenger. And me, in my sweats, only my history of reproductive failure along for the ride. Then the long trip back home, the long day of waiting.....and another FANTASTIC results phone call! With a happy sounding nurse! I never get the happy nurse voice! I get the sad nurse voice, the pessimistic nurse voice, the you're totally screwed and I saved this miserable call for last nurse voice. The happy, proud of your uterus nurse voice is my most favoritest.
Nurse K, the same Nurse K who kissed my forehead in the midst of m/c #2 and promised me they'd get me through, calls and puts me immediately at ease that at least this, the very earliest part of pregnancy, is gong well for me. She offers her congratulations (my first medical professional congratulations!) and tells me she can't wait to see me at my first appointment. Better yet, if I get to antsy before then, she says to call. They'll fit me in for an earlier peek. Now, just waiting and resting. And examining the TP incessently, of course. No more bloodwork, which makes me happy. Not because I minding the pokes, but because it tells me that for now at least, they're content with my progress.
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