For the past two weeks, I’ve been absolutely useless. It’s been all I could do to eat three meals a day and keep it down. I haven’t accomplished a single useful thing, and even when I try I get about two steps in and then the exhaustion just forces me back on to the couch.

I’ve been non-stop queasy. I haven’t thrown up yet, thank goodness, but instead I get completely nauseous after every meal. Every time I eat so much as a cookie I have to go lay down and be still for a few hours, and then it’s time to eat again. Bear’s had to do everything for me because all I can do is lay there and not throw up.

But mainly, I can’t do anything because I am an electric bundle of anxious nerves, and I spend most of my days wandering through the house worrying and wondering and praying and hoping and counting down the seconds until my eight week appointment to see if it’s going to work this time.

Today was the big day.

And I woke up to the phone ringing with a call from the doctor’s office canceling the appointment.

I immediately start weeping huge racking sobs as some anonymous girl tells me she has no information for me but she’ll leave a message for someone to call me which of course they don’t do.

I sat there with the phone in my hand rocking back and forth and crying until 11:30, and then I started making phone calls. 40 minutes later, I finally find someone who can help me after sobbing and explaining the whole sordid story to about six different people. Angel nurse Louise actually knew what was going on, so when I told her about the last miscarriage happening right about now in the pregnancy and that I was on the verge of jumping off the roof if someone didn’t tell me what was going on in my uterus, she tackled the nearest doctor and forced me into their schedule.

I’ll basically have to show up, strip down, get the lovely wand ultrasound, and hightail it out of the room before the next person comes in. But I don’t care. If I see a little flashing light showing the heartbeat, it will be worth it. And if not, at least I won’t have to be nauseous for much longer.

Can I just get away with saying ….Ug.

I feel like such hot crap. Luckily I haven’t been throwing up constantly like my poor friend Bev, but I have been constantly nauseous. Especially after I eat. Oh gosh. I’m here at 2:15 and still sick from eating breakfast at 10:30. It sucks.

I’ve also had a ton of sciatica pain. It is just the weirdest thing. All of a sudden I’ll get this shooting pain in my upper butt. It doesn’t feel like back pain, it feels like I’m being stabbed in the top of my butt. It just takes my breath away and if I don’t listen to the pain and lie down immediately, then it will just progress until I literally can’t walk.

I’m bored stupid because I have to spend most of my day laying down, and being too sick to even work on anything while I’m there. Instead I just flip channels and want to cry over the state of daytime TV.

Although it sucks, all these symptoms are very bittersweet. I felt great with Bookcase. I felt healthier than I ever had before, and they say that if you feel different symptoms, you can often expect a different outcome. So I’m remaining skeptically optimistic.

I have an appointment a week from today and then I’ll be eight weeks and we should be looking for a heartbeat. Maybe after that we’ll be able to drop our guard and be ecstatic.

Bear’s taken a couple days off of work, so we’re going to go sit at the beach and I’ll keep trying not to throw up. Gosh this entry sucks, but it’s all I can do to sit here long enough to type out these few staccato words. I just have to keep reminding myself: The nausea is my friend.

If this works out, I’ll be due April 23rd. Which makes me 6 weeks pregnant.

I’m so dang sick I can barely bring myself to even look at food. I’ve just been shoving it down my throat and then laying down for a few hours to deal with the queasiness.

I had a whole post in mind about our fertility options and what we were going to do and yadda yadda yadda, because this is the month that Bookcase would have been due, and I couldn’t help but notice that and obsess about the whole situation. Now I guess I won’t be needing that.

If I said I was just overjoyed, I’d be lying. My reaction has been pretty much, “Hmm. I wonder what’s going to happen with this.” I have my first appointment in two weeks, and that’s when we should be able to find out a few things. If I can just get a heartbeat, then I’ll rejoice. Right now I’m just afraid to cough.

Remember a while back when I whined about having a cold in August? What if this isn’t actually a cold? It’s not allergies, because I always get burning eyes first for allergies and my eyes have been fine. Plus I’ve been breaking out like crazy, I’m ravenously hungry all of a sudden, and I am absolutely exhausted. And don’t ask Bear about the mood swings. Please.

After I’d had the cold for about two weeks, Bear finally brought up the fact that when I was pregnant with Bookcase, I never got morning sickness, but I suffered relentlessly from pregnancy rhinitis. Son of a biscuit. Before he mentioned that, I was doing fine, just thinking I was having a monster case of PMS and things would resolve themselves shortly.

Now I can’t think of anything else. I’m afraid to take a test this soon in case it turns out to be a chemical pregnancy and this is all for nothing. Every time I get a symptom that could potentially be pregnancy related, we say that the Phantom Fetus is making me do it. Just in case I turn out to be completely psychosomatic and insane. I feel a little better going in at least knowing that’s a possibility.