When I received the news, I was pretty thrilled. So far, things were good quantitatively and qualitatively. Betas were robustly rising. Breasts were becoming more full by the day, weird tastes were starting to occasionally permeate my mouth, and bouts of lightheadedness would occur. "Menstrual" cramps would flare up throughout the day and cause me to double over. I pictured myself getting over 2,000 on Tuesday (hopefully close to 3,000) and being able to schedule the ultrasound.
An hour later, I was a ball of pessimism. I reminded myself that the last pregnancy had a promising rise in betas as well until the 3,800 mark where the progress stagnated and the following week was only 4,700. At this exact point in that pregnancy, I had similar symptoms of breast heaviness/pain and lightheadedness. (There were also cramps, though this time around they are much more frequent and painful.) Therefore, things could still easily go wrong and I could easily be in the same situation again. But not the same, because it would hurt worse.
While the last pregnancy was much wanted, the baby much loved, I have to say this time I feel even greater love and attachment (though also much greater detachment as well). I have thought about this baby, wished and hoped for its existence, every day for nearly 18 months. It has been the sole reason for my decisions and has been my entire world. To lose the hopes and dreams that I occasionally allow myself to have this time would be so crushing. There would be no naive optimism after a loss that by the next month I would be pregnant again. I know if a loss occurs, it could easily take another eighteen months to conceive again. Maybe even longer since I AM getting older and less fertile daily. And I would need medical intervention and I obviously get cysts from the treatments so rest months would be needed, plus I would get burnt out....So, this could be my only and last chance to have my own baby. And that is fucking scary.