Monday, I called off of work to stay home with sick Chuckles so I thought this was quite handy as I could pop in to my doctor and get a blood test to put this madness to an end. I started calling the office at 7:30 and called every 90 seconds until they opened at 8:03. My person would not be in until 9:30. Damn. So I went to work (Mr. Long-Suffering came home so I could attend my first day on the job). My office didn't call back until 6:30 that night.
First thing Tuesday morning, I went and had my blood drawn. And I waited for a call. And I waited and waited and waited. No call. Wednesday came and Wednesday almost went. At almost 7pm, Chuckles and I were (naked) about to hop into the shower. The phone rang. It was the nurse. My beta was back (but none of the other tests like progesterone which is actually rather important). It was 221. I was flabbergasted. 221. Woo Hoo. At 13dpo with Chuckles, it was 37 or somesuch, so I was prepared for any number greater than 25 to be regarded as good, but cautious, news. So, woo hoo. They did not want to repeat to check for doubling betas since this was basically an unmedicated cycle (apparently, the progesterone sticks in my, err mind, more than in theirs). They'll call me back when the rest of the blood work comes in. It's Saturday, that was Wednesday, I haven't heard from them yet, but there was a culture involved so perhaps they need to wait to see whether anything grows.
So, as of right now, I am pregnant. Not to jinx myself or anything, but a theoretical due date is November 20th. I am continuing progesterone and trying not to count any theoretical chickens before they theoretically hatch.