The 13th worst day of the year. The other 12 days that were worse? The day my period started each month. The day that marked another failure. Another cycle gone. Another month of trying and wishing and hoping. In vain. Every single month.
Now that I have my boys Mother’s Day is bittersweet. My heart aches with joy at my blessings. My heart aches with pain at the knowledge that there are so many others out there that are still trying and wishing and hoping. So many others dreading this day. Dreading the 12 other worst days.
So for all of you out there still trying – I’m thinking of you. For all of you out there that have lost your babies – I’m thinking of you. For all of you out there that have lost your mamas – I’m thinking of you too. This can be a trying and painful day for so many reasons. Be strong. Be good to each other. I’m thinking of you.
Wed. morning I did something I’ve never done before. I cried so hard I vomited.
Our DE nurse called and told us the Donor Egg Bank didn’t do open donations (which I already knew), but somehow hearing it from her made it worse. She also seemed annoyed that I wanted to have an open donation, like it didn’t make sense to her and she didn’t understand why it was such a big deal. It pushed me over the edge, and I lost it. I just straight up lost my shit y’all. I started sobbing those big, deep, horrible sobs – the kind you think will break you in half or strangle you – and I just couldn’t stop. There has been so much – stress, pressure, expectation, hope, loss, disappointment, fear, anger, sadness, guilt, exhaustion – that I just couldn’t carry it any longer. And my body quite literally purged itself of it.
I wish I could say that there was some kind of cathartic relief from that episode, like a weight has been lifted or my mind is suddenly free and clear, but that’s not really true. It felt good to cry, and it felt strangely good to acknowledge in a physical way the depth of my emotional pain, but I’m still pretty much in the same place I was before. No huge cognitive leaps or moments of clarity. It did, however, get me thinking about how far I’ve come and the things I’ve managed to overcome. Navigating infertility (and alllllllll of the things that go along with it) is like running a gauntlet in both your body and your soul. It’s hard and painful and desperately unfair. But so are a lot of things. This is my challenge, and this is my life. The conditions have been set and it’s up to me to stay the course.
Anyway, all of that reminded me of this song, especially this part
“I’ve been deep down in that darkness
I’ve been down to my last match
Felt a hundred different demons breathin’ fire down my back
And I knew that if I stumbled I’d fall right into the trap
That they were layin’
But the good news is there’s angels everywhere out on the street
Holdin’ out a hand to pull you back up on your feet”
I’ve been cramping (AF like cramps) since the retrieval. Yep, 10 straight days of cramps. So, that’s the progesterone. We can also put bloating and constipation and irritability and excessive thirst (which leads to excessive urination) in that category. Also, breast soreness. This started around the time I started round 2 of progesterone suppositories so it is probably also associated with the meds, although it’s getting a bit more intense. But no more intense than it usually is right before my period. I’m tired, but then again I’m always tired.
Which leaves me with……nothing. No symptoms. And by now (according to Dr. Google) most people have some symptoms.
I don’t hold out much hope for this cycle. The internet says our chances for a BFP are a little less than 1 in 4, my RE says it’s more like 1 in 9. Despite the low odds I’m constantly told to stay positive, think only good thoughts. I have to take my meds 3x a day, do yoga that increases blood flow to the uterus, not drink alcohol or coffee, not eat sushi, not get stressed or upset. And it all feels like an exercise in futility. A farce.
But every once in a while I slip. I find myself daydreaming about what it would be like to tell S that it worked, that we’re finally pregnant. What it would be like to have a 4 month old at my sister’s wedding (of course I already know the due date if this actually works). What it would be like to tell my step-daughter that she’ll finally have a sibling. And that’s the worst part. The more I think happy, positive thoughts the more devastated I’ll be when I get that BFN. I never really thought that the IUI would work. When we got the BFN it was ok. But this time we have a real chance. Our genetic material combined, it grew, and they put it back inside me. It’s REAL. I know that even with all of my logical assessment of the odds of a BFP and trying to be REALISTIC (which is rather the opposite of positive) I will be gutted if this doesn’t work. I can see that BFN abyss of loss and sadness and failure and self-blame right in front of me and I am frantically trying to build a shell around myself so that when I get the BFN and topple in to that hole I’ll have something to break my fall.
**Update – I broke down and tested today at 4:00. BFN. Just saying…
Hope is something you pee on 