Roosevelt got it wrong

This will ramble, as eloquence is not my friend right now.

I had meltdown Friday after talking to the RE. I knew
it was trouble as soon as I answered the phone. A nurse usually calls
with my results and what I heard was, "Hi, this is Dr. Singletary; I'm
in for Dr. Sleepy today and I wanted to call you personally to discuss
your results." My heart dropped in that very second. She went on to
explain what I already knew about betas that don't rise properly. On
SMO I have seen a hundred cases
like mine over the years. Rarely do things turn out well. It happens,
though. I've bitten my fingernails through others' beta hells and
prayed that they'd be one of the ones to pull through and make it,
knowing all along that they likely wouldn't. The RE said what I knew
she would; things don't look good but sometimes things do work out. My
number rose, so we need to give it chance. We can be cautiously
optimistic but the likelihood that this will not turn out well is high.
I appreciated her frankness; had I been someone who didn't know squat
about betas, she would have answered all of my questions before I even
had the chance to ask them.

She called Mia next. Dr. Singletary had tried to call Mia and Urs first, but couldn't get through. She asked me about it, and we found that she had been dialing the international exit code incorrectly. My heart was in my throat, knowing that in those minutes Mia was about to be crushed. Mia, sounding as if she was struggling to keep her broken pieces together, called about thirty minutes later. She asked if I had ever seen people with low and/or non-doubling betas actually make it. I told her that I had but it was rare. Knowing how she's been trying to stay focused on positivity, I echoed the RE's words – be cautiously hopeful, with more emphasis on cautious. Just then I could hear Urs arriving home from work in the background; Mia still had to break the news to him. I knew that would be what unglued her. We said our sad goodbyes.

Later Friday night, I sent Mia and Urs an email, trying to keep them encouraged. No excessive pie in the
sky talk from me- just confirmation that whatever happened, we would
get through it together.
On the Cycling & 2ww forum on SMO
there's a huge beta thread with people's results and whether they had
singletons or multiples. I went through and copied and pasted
non-doubling and low betas similar to ours that actually resulted in
the delivery of a singleton. There were maybe 9 or so, and their
numbers were worse than ours. Mia has been into visualization and I knew that Urs would be consulting Dr. Google for any and everything related to poor betas. For all of our sakes, I knew we needed to have to have some hope for this until we
knew for sure there's nothing left to hope for.
Mia and Urs emailed a short while later, thanking me for the research and the kind words. My hunch was right; Urs had been scouring the Internet in search of something concrete focus some positive energy on, and it was a small relief to them both to see evidence of others' cautiously optimistic hope turning out well.

You know what the odd thing about this is? I actually feel more Zen now
than I have since the start of this whole cycle. Friday after
talking to Mia it's like something shifted. This either will be or it
won't. Plain and simple. It's like shifting from Technicolor to black
and white; same picture, different view. At the start of this cycle I
worried almost constantly about all the different ways it could have ended in disaster. Poor stim. Few eggs. Bad fertilization. Thin lining. Now, I know how things will go wrong –
so what is there to worry about now? Like I said – it either will or
won't be, and for some reason looking at it like that has been somewhat
freeing. It's hard to explain. Maybe it's just shock and nerves
speaking. Maybe it's just an internal defense mechanism working. Maybe I've just gotten good at deluding myself into thinking that I'm fine.

I talked to Mia again yesterday for a while and she seems to feel similarly calm and accepting of whatever will happen. I don't yet know if that's a good thing or a bad thing for either of us. Friday night was rough for them – they felt "dejected," to use her word. She woke up yesterday morning with a regained perspective. The bottom
line of what she feels is this: she will be a mother someday one way or
another, and whether it is now or later is just in the details. Of
course she wants it to be now, but the ultimate goal is becoming a
mother, and she won't lose sight of that. That's the thought that gives
her hope and is keeping her "stable" as she said. She said while wondering what Monday will bring will be near, she will
enjoy the remainder of her weekend, especially after hearing that I am also doing
relatively okay. It was interesting that for both of us, the other was
our greatest concern. Once we heard that we were both doing well, we
both felt immense relief. I'll probably start to spazz out again come tomorrow morning…waiting between the blood draw and the phone call is
always the worst.

I had minuscule hopes that maybe there was a lab error or a
vanishing twin that threw the beta results. I'm the type who likes to
watch the bomb as it makes its descent so I can brace for impact. I
tested Friday night to have a baseline. The three tests I've taken
since then aren't any darker. If anything, they might be a hair
lighter. Maybe. One thing is for sure – the line isn't getting any
darker. Judging betas with HPT darkness isn't a science by any means,
but I don't expect a happy joy level tomorrow.

A funny thing I've learned about hope – when all you have left is hope, you're already at your worst case scenario.
If this is going to end badly, it's already happening and there's
nothing I can do about it now. It's like I've accepted the fact that
this might be ending so I don't have that fear anymore. I'm left with
just hope, and there's not even much of that left. It brings to mind a quote from The Diary of Anne Frank.
Just as the Gestapo were breaking into the Secret Annex, Mr. Frank
said, "For years we have lived in fear; now we can live in hope." 
I think that hope in its purest form, unlaced with other emotions like fear or joy, might just be synonymous with desperation.

FDR said, "We have nothing to but fear itself." I think a more appropriate statement would have been "We have nothing to fear but hope by itself."

15 thoughts on “Roosevelt got it wrong”

  1. Yeah, the hope is not even something I really welcome at times like this. It can feel lik eit is just there to mess with me.
    I am sending as much positive energy I can your way hun.

  2. Good question, Erin. I think it depends on the person and the situation, and I also think which one is better will vary even from moment to moment. For me, acceptance feels better right now. Thanks so much for your kind words and support, Erin.

  3. You’ve had me thinking about hope for some time now. Thank you for that and thank you for letting me watch and learn from your hope and acceptance.

  4. I like your twist on FDR’s famous quotation. By which I mean, not that I actually *like* it, but that, sadly, I completely agree with it.

  5. I have looked at this a few times today, thinking maybe something perfect to say will come to mind. It hasn’t happened, so I’ll just say that I’m thinking of you.

  6. I’m sorry Moxie. I just had a chemical, myself. I think having a negative would be much better than a chemical. At least there’s no false hope in a negative.
    I really hope you have good news tomorrow. I’ll be checking back frequently to see what your results are.

  7. i’m behind a day or three. i’ve got tears rolling down my cheeks.
    a bfn is mean, but a bfp followed by non-doubling numbers is the meanest.
    dammit universe.

  8. I’m sorry it’s looking tough with this one.
    I am so impressed by all that you’ve done for other women. You have amazing strength (and I’m so glad Calliope captured that with your header–it’s fab!)
    Even though hope is for losers, I’m still hoping the news tomorrow is better than expected.

  9. This is such a beautiful post Moxie. You are in my prayers for your test tomorrow. I’ll be anxiously waiting and hoping with you.

  10. It’s odd – these posts are harder to read when I already know what happened. You would expect the opposite – being braced for the fall lessens the impact – but no. Knowing how it turns out removes my opportunity to hope, and that’s a hard thing. I don’t spend a lot of time hoping for my own good news, but I do hope feverishly for others. I never realized how much good those thoughts (and prayers?) were doing for me – maybe more than the intended hope recipients…

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