Well, I made it over -- the test was positive-- but, I tripped on the way -- it was a "low positive". So I get to keep getting the progesterone needle stabbed in my ass for the next 4 mornings and then I go back on Monday for another test. When the nurse delivered this less than desirable news my response was "well, that's not good." Her response was "it's not good or bad". But anything less than an unequivocal "BFP, see you in a week" is not good news to me. Of course, as usual, they didn't give me a number. Part of me is dying to know and part of me is glad I don't. Really it probably doesn't matter -- I'm going to obsess and worry about this for the next four days anyway.
And the thing that really gets me. The f*cking uncertainty. I mean the uncertainty of the 2WW sucks, but this is a real Mother F*cker. If it's not going to work, then I just want to know, have a beer, a really long cry and move on. CRAP -- now I'm sad and pissed off and it's not a good combination. And, what a lovely birthday present for my husband huh? A big fat "maybe, but probably not" AND a miserable wife.