A little part of me was holding out hope that I'd get up this morning, take out my last HPT, pee on it, and get a positive result. As I watched the dye move across the place where the test line should be, a little part of me wanted it to turn pink right away, so that there would be no doubt in my mind that this worked.
But, there's nothing there. Not even the faintest of lines. Not the tiniest glimmer of hope. Nothing at all. Blank.
Today, I'll drive through traffic to get to the clinic. I'll walk in there and a nurse will take me into a small room to have my blood drawn. She'll pretend to be optimistic, and I'll smile and go along with it, even if I know this is all over with. I just want to move on.
I'll know for sure that this cycle failed by this afternoon. The last two months will have all been for nothing. All the waiting. All the shots I've had to give myself, all the shots my husband had to give me, all the raging hormones, the emotions, the desperate feeling that kept me going...it will all have been for nothing.
The nurse will say, "You are not pregnant," and it will sting just as much as the negative pregnancy test sitting on my sink.
Today won't be easy...not at all. I'll be alone when I get the phone call, and I'll cry alone until my husband gets home. I'll be bitter and angry and sad...so sad...
But it is what it is. This was not my time. That was not the embryo who was supposed to make it. I have a friend who told me that though she struggled with her infertility, she doesn't regret anything she did along the way, because had another treatment worked, she wouldn't have the child she had today. Everything would be different. Quite literally, the son she loves today would not exist.
So, maybe this is why it has turned out this way. Maybe I wasn't meant to have THAT embryo. Maybe there's another one that is supposed to be my baby, and this all had to happen so that I could get to it.
This might have failed...but I am still hopeful. I am hopeful that the next few months are going to bring about something greater for me. Something that I don't have to take medicine for, or stab myself in the stomach with a needle for, or go under surgery only to wake up to disappointment. It will fall into place...that is my hope.
It may have failed, but I am not done fighting for my baby. I will never be done with it until I'm holding her in my arms, and I'll know for sure that all of this was worth it in the end.
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