I know, although my nurse so sweetly suggests that we hold onto hope, that the fate of this clinging embie is not good. I've been down this road. I had a low beta once before that didn't quite double every two days, and it ended in my first miscarriage at 6 weeks. It was awful and painful, and I'm dreading this happening again.
I went in for bloodwork this morning, so hopefully we'll get an idea of where this thing is going today. But I did have one extra pregnancy test in the closet and figured I'd use it to make sure that the line is getting lighter. It didn't. It stayed the same... the same faint pink that it's been since the beginning.
Faint pink means that I'll probably have to go back for monitoring in another few days to make sure my hcg drops to zero. I don't really want to be there. Sitting in the same chair I sat in when I was hopeful and excited... now aggravated and sad. I have a hard time mustering up my silent, polite smile when I'm angry.
To cheer myself up, I've been reminding myself of all the fun things I can do again once I'm out of pregnancy purgatory. I can have a venti, full-caff, iced mocha latte from Starbucks. I can drink an entire pitcher of sangria all by myself. I can stop asking, "Does this have Splenda in it?" I can go back to Zumba classes. I can clear my mini-pharmacy off of my kitchen counter. I can stop hiding my sharps container every time the doorbell rings so I don't freak anyone out. I can have sex again. I can bungee jump (although I wouldn't... it's nice to know I could).
They're minor consolations, but they're at least enough to keep me from going mad while I wait for today's phone call. Keeping my fingers crossed--and I can't believe I'm saying this--that my number is lower. I just want this to end peacefully.