It's almost 1 am. I got into bed at 11:30 pm. I wanted to go to bed before the husband so I had time to just lie there and cry. For a little while, I just stared at the window, numb. And then I thought about how I'm going to have to face the doctor sometime soon and have what we call in the IVF world the 'WTF Appointment" where you try to figure out wtf went wrong. I thought about how I'm going to have to sit there, probably all by myself, and listen to him tell me that I'm going to have to sit it out a couple of months and get my weight under control. I thought about how not only is my body managing to betray me in the way of fertility, but now it is also betraying me in this way as well. Finally, I started to cry, and I let myself cry it out for a little while before rolling over and trying my best to fall asleep. But my mind won't shut off. I can't sleep.
It hurts to be betrayed by your own person. As if there aren't enough things in my life to kick me in my ass when I'm down, now my own self is managing to do it. I'm tired of everything being a struggle. I've been struggling with major depressive disorder since I was in high school. Now I have to manage that on top of infertility and my weight. Every day is a battle.
I know I've said this before, but I am tired. I keep thinking about the people in my life who have managed to just get pregnant at the drop of a hat, and it hurts. Infertility hurts. It hurts to know that while nothing is happening for me, it seems to be happening for everyone else. And I'm a fish in a fishbowl, stuck watching as the world moves on without me.
I am tired.
Part of me wants a break, but the other part of me thinks that while I am taking a break, I am wasting precious time. That I am letting weeks and months go by that I could be trying for my baby...and it seems so backwards. How can I just stop trying? How do you let go of something that you've been holding on to for a year and a half now? And if I take some time off, by the time I get back into IVF, it will probably be next year...more waiting. More and more waiting.
I am tired.
I keep trying to convince myself that this is happening for a reason. Something like this just can't be subjected onto a person for no reason, right? There has to be some sort of explanation for why my ovaries can't seem to function right, or why my body isn't accepting the embryos that were put back inside of me. There has to be a reason why all of these people are praying and hoping for me, but nothing is coming of it...
I wish I knew the reason. I really do.
It could be worse, I know. There could be a ton of other things that could have gone wrong. I should be thankful that I at least have a chance, even if nothing seems to be coming of it. It is so hard to be thankful of something that isn't working, though. It's so hard to be brave and stand tall during all of this and pretend like it's not happening. It's hard to just smile at people and say, "We're trying," when they ask me when I'm going to have children. We're trying, sure. And failing. Well, I am failing. My husband works just fine. It's me who is broken.
Being broken sucks. I wish I could be returned for a new me...one that will work the way I'm supposed to.
This is all so consuming. I am being swallowed up by infertility. I can't even look at other people's children without thinking to myself, "Why them? Why not me?" I'll never have the answer to that. No one will.
So now what?
Now, technically, I am 13 DPO. According to Fertility Friend, 75% of women get their positive test by 13 DPO. So, if I don't, I am officially in the losing percent. That means I have a less than 25% chance of getting a positive test after today. I will be numb. I'll shut off even more than I already have. I'll grieve for the week, only to be hit with a negative beta on Friday. Then I'll grieve through the weekend.
I'll pretend afterward that I'm okay, but I won't be okay. I'll be thinking about it every day. I'll be thinking about the picture of my one little embryo, which I've hung up on the fridge, and I'll wonder why I wasn't good enough to keep it alive. That makes three little pieces of me and my husband that I've failed to grow. Me. It is my fault.
I'll listen to people try to tell me that it's okay. I'll listen to their advice, their suggestions, their sympathies. But it's not okay. No matter how much you say it is okay, it isn't. This is not okay. I am not okay.
Somehow, I'll find the energy to move on, despite how exhausted I am. Somehow, I'll pick myself up and remind myself that we still have options. I'll shelve my plans for how I was going to tell my husband, my mother, my father, that it worked...that it finally worked...and I'll pretend to forget about it for a little while.
Somehow. I just don't know how right now.
Sorry for the long post. I had to get it all out.
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