Insult, Meet Injury

So after the negative pregnancy test on Friday, I started bleeding. Not spotting…bleeding. Not just bleeding, but bleeding more than I have in months and months. In a perverse way I’m almost proud of how much my body does not want to be pregnant; expelling uterine lining and embryos a full three days before my beta.

I didn’t really know what to do when the bleeding started so quickly and violently, so I kept up with my Prometrium and Endometrium suppositories. I kept telling myself that if the bleeding doesn’t stop by *insert time* I’ll stop taking the medicine. But I just couldn’t stop myself.

I wasn’t going to go to my blood draw this morning, sort of a final middle finger to the whole medical establishment. However, last night I started having stabbing abdominal pains that made me wonder if I might have gone ectopic. So I went. They are calling Tony with the results and I know he won’t tell me while I’m at work. He’s currently not answering his office line.

I can’t believe that the closest we ever got to being parents was after four months of trying on our own. For four blissful weeks we thought we were going to be a family with a mommy, daddy, and baby not knowing that the mass of baby-like cells that caused the pregnancy test to turn positive had stopped developing weeks earlier.

We’ve spent almost three years chasing that high and never got any closer, never even got that close again.

We found out last week that we had nothing to freeze.

Fuck.

Update: I'm officially negative.