The End or the Beginning?

As of today, I am 5 weeks pregnant. Maybe. Possibly? Actually, I really am not sure. I know I'm pregnant. According to my hcg level last week and google, I should be about 5 weeks. But I can't be sure since this latest positive pregnancy test came in the wake of a missed miscarriage at 11 weeks. Also, I know that my hcg levels are rising, despite my abysmally low progesterone levels. And I also know that for the past 6 days, I've been spotting on a consistent, daily basis. Waiting for the end to come. Recently, it feels like I'm the only woman in the world who has been shell shocked by a pregnancy loss, and the only woman in the world who is petrified of the implications of the two pink lines on FRED. I know this is, of course, not true. But these feelings of isolation are what caused me to start blogging in the first place. Because, as I talk (or type) my thoughts become more clear. Things become a little less scary and I'm not so alone. So I relive my journey to try to make sense of my emotions. But this journey didn't start last week, or even two months ago. My fertility journey started in 2005, when I decided to donate my eggs for the first time.