Speechless

Okay, first things first.

9w 3d and we have a really little jumping bean with fingers and everything. I have finally gathered the courage to register with the midwife. Roll on, end of the first trimester.

Secondly.

I received a bill yesterday from Dr. BTG that had apparently been rejected by my insurance company. Hoping it was a mistake, I phoned them up only to be told by an Eastern European customer care operative that their "policy regarding fertility matters" had changed rather recently and my claims were now NOT covered. I commented on how nice it was to tell me this when I first sent them a letter detailing my treatment back in July. I could almost audibly hear the woman on the phone shrug her shoulders.

So, we were now responsible for £900 pounds of doctor's bills. I had a good old cry, upsetting the Prawn in the process, until Mr. DD pointed out that it was only money and we could probably take care of that amount in 3 or 4 months with careful budgeting. He is always right.

So, I had my final appointment with Dr. BTG this morning. The scan went very well and then, as we were leaving, I told him that the remainder of the bills needed to be forwarded to us rather than the insurance company.

"Oh, don't worry about that," he said, waving his hand dismissively, "just pay me in champagne."

We laughed.

"I'm serious," he said, "say...two bottles per visit, six in total?"

Then I nearly cried. Instead of owing £900, we were now only responsible for approximately £200 quid in champagne. (We WILL be getting the good stuff!)

Today was a Good Day.

Hmmmm...

So, I had an appointment on for a scan this morning.

I was expecting the worst.

But there was a heartbeat.

I can't count chickens, as I have seen a heartbeat before and had things go wrong, but it's better than a kick in the teeth.

I haven't quite figured out how to leave the house yet. In other words, it always feels a little weird to be a sane person who realizes that they're going crazy.

Dr. BTG was trying to be optimistic. "Don't worry." he said. "Come back in two weeks." Forums, after all, are filled with "I didn't see the HB at 6 weeks, but it was there at 8!" happy endings, but I'm guessing that in two weeks, I'm not going to need another sonogram to tell me what's happening because....well, it's me, isn't it?

There's some tightening. And cramping. And the nausea. (Did I mention that I feel atrociously ill?) But no blood. Really, body? You're REALLY going to drag this out?

But of course, it's the limbo that's the worst. Until I get the results of the blood test that should tell me conclusively what's going on, I'm just kind of waiting it out.

The Mr thinks we should give it a rest for a while. Get back on the happy pills for a while. Get back into exercise. Be able to enjoy our Prawn and the rest of the summer worry free. I think I may be inclined to agree. It's just trying to get past the worry of having all of the baby stuff taken care of by the time we leave these shores and suddenly find that anything medical shoots up in price by 300%. I worry about my age. I worry about the widening age gap between a second sibling and the Prawn. I worry about money. I worry about how many more miscarriages I can endure both physically and emotionally.

I've been thinking about my life at the moment like a patch of scorched earth. Every time green shoots of renewal start to poke through the surface, another fucking rain of fire just come out of the sky.

I'm just talking here, people, I don't know where I'm going with this.

Update:

Got a call from Dr. BTG saying all looked well with bloods. Slightly low on progesterone, but wants me to go back to shots.

So, still have no idea. Still waiting for answers.

This record sucks? Can we dance to a different one?

So.

6 weeks.

No heartbeat.