Milestone (nearly) achieved:
I’m celebrating wherever I can these days, and this seems like a big one. Tomorrow night officially marks 12 weeks’ gestation, a.k.a. my LAST NIGHT OF SHOTS. Yes, every.single.day since I started writing this blog on December 11, I have had at least one, if not more, needles going into my body. That is, with the exception of that one glorious night when I ran out of progesterone in oil and the clinic said it would be okay for me to skip one dose. Bliss.
To save you the effort, I’ve done the math so you don’t have to (so thoughtful of me, right?).
Three and a half months. One hundred four days. Twenty-five of those days required two shots, for a grand total of 129 injections. (Excluding the 6 blood draws I’ve had so far, too.)
So come Saturday night, no more ice packs, no more alcohol pads, no more syringes, needles, progesterone, estradiol valerate, gauze, or heating pads. Just me and my placenta, taking over from here.
The coming week will bring my next blood draw, to see if the antibody levels have gone up in my blood. Should they rise, the earlier they do the riskier it will be. So, here’s hoping. You know I’ll keep you posted.