I was pretty anxious about today's ultrasound. I knew this was it--either we would see a heartbeat and things would be good, or we wouldn't and things would be very, very bad. I couldn't fall asleep last night and I tossed and turned for hours.
But as soon as the wand went in and Dr. SF zoomed in on the embryo/fetus/fetbryo (tm Julia), he said, "I see the heartbeat." Now, I will be honest with you all and admit that I myself did not see an actual flickering heartbeat, and when I asked my husband later, he admitted he didn't, either. (I did see a sort of blurriness in the middle of the fetbryo, that was all.) But Dr. SF turned on the sound and we heard the glorious whoosh whoosh whoosh and saw the sound waves like mountains across the screen, and yes, I teared up a little. 170 bpm.
When we zoomed in a little more, we could make out the head and the umbilical cord (I think). Baby is measuring 7w6d. Perfect perfect. I thought I was actually 7w4d today, counting from the date of my IUI, but Dr. SF said at this clinic they actually count the date of hCG trigger as 2w, so that would make me 7w6d. Whatever--I can't keep all the calculations straight. Either way, the measurement is beautiful.
Dr. SF also said I can stop taking the metformin. I'm a little nervous about that--since I haven't been on any progesterone supplementation, met has been my talisman throughout these early weeks. Also, I finally got back to pooping normally after weeks of crippling constipation, so I'm not sure how my system will respond. I might taper myself off it gradually. I asked if I should start taking it again if I want to TTC in the future, and Dr. SF said yes, whenever I'm done nursing, I can go back on it. He said to wait a few months to see if I ovulate on my own (ha!) and then come back if I don't.
So, I'm officially booted from the RE. First OB appointment is Monday. Yes, I tempted fate and made the appointment before I saw a heartbeat. I just couldn't stand the thought of having to wait two or three more weeks without any medical reassurance. Also, I expect she'll want to refer me to a high-risk specialist for extra monitoring, and I'd like to get that figured out as soon as possible.
After much agonizing and hand-wringing and lengthy consultation (translation: whining and obsessively detailed emails) with my husband (who was no help) and some very patient ladies, I decided to go back to the ob/gyn I was seeing before I got on the infertility rollercoaster. I had initially picked her because of her very patient-centered, low-intervention approach to childbirth, but because of the whole wonky uterus thing, I didn't think low-intervention was in the cards for me, and I wondered if I should just find an OB affiliated with the hospital nearest my apartment, which is known for its top NICU and high-risk-pregnancy program. But Dr. SF said that pretty much any hospital here in Big City would be good, and warned me that the high-risk group at this other hospital was so huge that I'd probably never see the same doctor twice. So I'm going back to my old ob/gyn, figuring that even if I end up having to have a scheduled C-section, a woman-centered, patient-empowering doctor is never a bad thing.
Quick symptom run-down before I go stare at the US picture some more: Bloating has gone way down, thank goodness. I still can't button most of my pants, but I no longer look pregnant, and I can no longer feel my right ovary when I lie down and run my hand over my abdomen, so that's a good thing. However, as the bloating has decreased, nausea has risen up to take its place. No vomiting--yet--just a constant low-level pukey feeling. If it never gets worse than this, I'll be fine. (But I'm not counting on it--my mom said when she was pregnant with me, her morning sickness kicked in after about two months. Assuming she's remembering correctly from 32 years ago.)
After Dr. SF left the exam room and while I was getting dressed, my husband kept staring at the screen, where the close-up of the fetbryo was frozen. "That's the head," he finally said, wonderingly. And then, affectionately, "My little alien baby."