• My mom bled through her first trimester with both me & my little brother.
• I’ve had blood in my kleenex every time I blow my prednisone-stuffy nose from the day after transfer.  My mucosa membranes are obviously fucked up.
• Carrying twins makes bleeding much more likely according to everything I’ve read or heard.
• IVF makes bleeding much more likely.
• I’ve only had a couple of spots of fresh blood.  Most of it is old, and according to Dr. Google, “nothing to worry about”.
• I really haven’t had any cramping since week 6.
• The nausea is unmistakeable and growing more pronounced.
• The boobage is threatening to take over my entire front.  Internets, I’m stacked.
• I never bled with any of my previous miscarriages.  At the time, I hated that fact, it just seemed doubly cruel that I simply didn’t know.  Now I’m finding comfort in it.  Bleeding or not-bleeding apparently means something different to my body than to others’.
• I did have a MUCH fluffier uterine lining than I’ve ever managed to pull off before.  As witnessed by the fact that both sprogs managed to implant – something we’ve never managed, even when transferring 3+.
• I’ve been under some wicked stress – both physical & mental – in the last week & a half.  Thanks, Realm of Pain.   You suck!

But it’s this last one that I think just might be telling:

• I’ve been feeling sick enough in the afternoons & evenings that drinking my full allotment of water has taken second place to not-vomiting in my list of daily priorities.  I did run across a couple of references to dehydration making people more prone to spotting.  Which might make sense.  This started while we were traveling, when I certainly wasn’t drinking as much as I ought, and this last week, I’ve been feeling so green in the afternoons that I know I haven’t been drinking enough.  I mean, I’m still probably drinking more than I usually do, but not enough so that I don’t always feel thirsty.

So.

My solution?  I’m going to make a real effort to get more fluids into me in the next couple of days.  Buy some gatorade powder – a trick I used when I was working outside a lot – and dose my water enough to make it not taste like water, but not enough to be sweet (I really don’t like sweet drinks).  Maybe buy a bunch of limes.

And keep track.

This is obviously just an excuse to make a new Excel chart in order to distract myself.  And I’m ok with that…

Hah.

And then I went to the bathroom after dinner and had a small heart attack.  I am starting to wonder if it’s cervical irritation, rather than anything else.  I sure am shoving a lot of medication up there on a thrice-daily basis, so maybe I’m just not being careful enough to steer clear of Ms. Sensitive Cervix.

Bitch.

Bleeding bitch.

In other craptastic news, I got called on my day off to go into the Realm of Pain today.  I am not pleased. Actually, I threw what could only be called a tantrum yesterday, both on the phone to the assistant manager who was tasked with making the call, and then after I all but threw the phone across the room, in front of my poor, long-suffering husband.  The Princess is being vindictive and making me pay for admitting that I’d rather be anywhere than in her reach.  I just want out of this situation, internets.  It’s only getting worse.

Going to go analyze toilet paper one last time before I have to go ride the Train of Doom to the Realm of Pain so I can take abuse and witness the craziness of the Princess of Romania.

It sounds like more fun when I type it out like that.  Humor me.  This is my life.  Sheesh.

Not at all.

Instead of living week to week for ultrasounds, or even hanging in there til my first trimester is over (hah!) I’m living pretty much bathroom-trip to bathroom-trip, based on the color of the toilet paper.  And thanks to the overactive bladder, that’s pretty much hour to hour.

And oh-my-fucking-god can I just tell you right now how much I hate this?  Feeling fine, feeling great, in fact, because the sick just keeps getting blechier, and the boobs keep getting sorer, but then – hey, what’s this?  More blood.  Red blood, brown blood, pinkish blood.  Never a lot, never enough to make me say, “Whoa!  This looks like a miscarriage!”  But it’s blood.  Coming from the womb of death.  I hate it all.

Plus I’ve got a zit on my forehead, and since I break out when I’m NOT pregnant, it’s got me panicking over more than whether or not the Boy will ask me to the Valentine’s Day dance looking like this.

I’m just so damned weary of being afraid.  Scared sucks, and what’s almost worse is that I’m not even heart-poundingly panicked – I just feel resigned, somehow.  Fatalistic.  Like, if I’m going to lose this pregnancy too, can’t I just do it now instead of it dragging on for another week or two?  And that is so unlike me that it just annoys the hell out of me – when I can be bothered to feel annoyed.

I’m thinking of going in to the clinic tomorrow, instead of waiting til my day off on Thursday, just because I’m tired of the suspense.  I’m tired of waiting for a shoe to drop on my head, tired of waiting for the punchline that will make me cry.

I just want something to be easy – or at least not the hardest thing ever.  I keep doing what feels like the hardest thing ever, and it keeps not being enough to make any of this work.  This is a fucking donor egg pregnancy.  This is supposed to be cake.  Cake made from the fluffy, happy eggs of a sweet young thang.  And my ancient woodburning-oven can’t even bake it properly?  Someone get me a new recipe, damnitall.

Internets, I’m just so very tired.  And I want to stop bleeding.  And I want to stop waking up in the middle of the night, needing to pee, and just lying there until my bladder is ready to goddamned well explode, because I’m too scared to go into the bathroom where I might find more blood than my brain can rationalize away.

I just want to be pregnant.  With a baby.  A baby that I can feel somewhat confident might be around in another week or two.  Or month or two.  Or year or two.  Or decade or two.  And I’m seriously starting to wonder if that’s something I’m ever going to be allowed to have.

And I hate that.

Going to think about going in to pee now.

Maybe.  But I’ll bet it can wait anothe r 2o minutes if I put my mind to it.