Sydney

Sydney was very tough to get through, but I’m proud I managed it by myself.

I’d promised myself that I would try to think about my university work and not about the pregnancy, but it was extremely hard to concentrate.

Qantas lost my bag on the flight up to Sydney. I didn’t even realise until wheels touched tarmac. They assured me that my bag would be delivered to my hotel room by 7pm, but by 10pm it still hadn’t arrived. By that stage I’d run out of battery on my ipad and iphone so I had no way of contacting anyone. I was starting to panic because my crinone gel was in the bag and I needed it to keep my progesterone levels up.

I kept thinking what if Nemo is ok after all, but missing the crinone dose has a negative affect? What if the incompetence of the airline company is going to hurt my baby? Thankfully, the bag arrived at 11pm and I was able to take the crinone dose only half an hour late.

In class on Saturday morning I could hardly concentrate at all on anything the teacher was saying. I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering. So on my lunch break I ducked across to the pharmacy and bought a pregnancy test. I needed to put my mind at rest. The test was ridiculously expensive – $28 for just one test. The price tag stopped me from buying more than one, which in the end I was glad about.

The following morning upon first waking in the hotel room, I ripped open the plastic packaging and said a silent prayer for Nemo. I think it went something along the lines of “Dear God, I’m an atheist so we don’t really talk. But if you could please just let me have my baby I would owe you big time and I really mean that.”

I was using another Clear Blue digital test. The one that flashed up an image of an egg timer while the test was thinking. It was the same monotonous flashing as before.

Flash……thinking…..flash…..thinking……flash…..thinking.

And when it stopped flashing, there were two words on the screen that I’d never actually seen on a digital test before. There in plain English for the whole world to see.

Not Pregnant.

It hit me really hard. It wasn’t a squinter on a first response, or an internet cheapie. It wasn’t a test with a pink control line that I could study under a microscope to try and convince myself I could see a second line. It was undeniable, unarguable. Not pregnant. Just like that.

In class on Sunday morning we were handed back some essays. I’d written mine while I was going through the worst of my OHSS a month earlier, so I knew it wasn’t up to my usual standard. I was still shocked to see that I had only received a pass mark. Normally I get distinctions and high distinctions for my studies. I’m a high achieving student.

The lecturer, who has taught me in previous semesters, wrote on the bottom of the paper “Sadie I am most disappointed with this effort. Please come and see me after class.”

On the mid-morning coffee break, I found the lecturer outside finishing a phone call. I asked if it was an ok time to talk about the essay and she said that it was. Before I knew it I was a blubbering mess, sobbing in her arms that I was losing my baby and my entire world was ending. The poor lady hardly knew what to do with me.

She offered to let me resubmit my essay, but I said I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to have to re-write an assignment I had already passed because I now lacked the mental energy. She also suggested I should drop out of university for the semester, and come back in a few months time when I’m feeling better. But through my tears I explained that I’m in the final semester of my masters degree and I didn’t want to lose my baby and my dream of graduation.

Afterwards, I went for a walk through the campus for about half an hour to clear my head. I phoned Doug and sobbed to him on the phone for a while. He said when I come home he wants me to start seeing a counselor to cope with my feelings. It’s probably a good idea.

I’m waiting at the airport now for my flight home.

Tomorrow I  get my next blood test. I’m confident the results will show my pregnancy levels have dropped and soon I’ll start to bleed. I can’t keep pretending there’s still hope. I need to pull myself back together and try to figure out what we’ll do next.

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