I’ve gone from a full boil to a sizzle this morning regarding yesterday’s news. I just can’t believe this is really happening this way. The reason I am concerned, is, frankly, I just want to be like every other woman who suffers a miscarriage. I want my numbers to return to zero, get AF, and move on.

I get so tired being in the unlucky 1%. Having more than three m/c’s after a “live born”, having no answers regarding my infertile state, having a failed D&E, having this hCG saga, it’s just too much for a person to take.

“When do you reach your personal breaking point?” I was asked this question by my family physician on Tuesday when I went in for this strep throat illness. She mentioned that having the flu and strep all in a months time has as much to do with stress as the germs lurking in David’s pre-K class. Then, we sat for 40 minutes talking about what’s been going on with me. She nodded, offered suggestions, and gave me lots of analogies.

And then, she said, “Life is not a sprint, Shelli, its a marathon.”
“If you continue in sprint mode, you will almost surely run out of steam, physically and emotionally.”

And she’s right. I am a micro-manager, an organizer, a perfectionist with a warped sense of order. I can manage the healthcare I receive, but there is so much out of my circle of control (oh man, I’m goin’ Dr. Phil on y’all now) that by spinning and spinning WHO KNOWS how that affects my body physically.

And how many times have I blogged about my Dad’s cancer, and the irony, and his best friend dying of the same cancer, and the good that was spawned from it?
I wrote the words and didn’t listen to the words.

I am so driven to my goal, I am just plowing down everything in my way. A one-track mind, as my Dad would say. Ignoring the important things like… taking care of myself, being with my family (“connecting” with them, not off in space thinking how many days since the m/c), staying in touch with my friends, being PRESENT in my life (crap, now I’ve gone Oprah on you too).

Well, you get the drift.

So here’s the thing. If my beta is still high on Monday, I am not dumb, I already know what’s coming. Drugs, like Meth.o.trex.ate likely (there are other drugs, but if I post them here I am sure to get spammed). The concern is microscopic placental cells can go all nuclear and crap and can easily transform into abnormal cells. Abnormal=bad. hCG increasing means they are getting unruly. If it increases more, the chemo effect in the drug will eradicate those sons of biotches.

So let’s think happy thoughts. Like lab error from yesterday. Or, my body is just toying with me and the number will be zero on Monday.

A girl can dream. I can be in the 99% right?

Whatever the outcome, hubby and I agreed that we should start thinking of Plan B and Plan C. While I am sure we are still going to try a round or two of injectibles and IVF, we also are warming back up to the idea of adoption that we’ve been kicking around.

Either way, come February when I turn 40, my time clock won’t stop.

No sense sprinting towards it.

It will come, and it will pass, and whatever I will be doing, I can only guarantee that it will be far away from today.