They say the third time is the charm. Probably not in this instance.
I haven’t had any motivation to write because I feel like everything I want to write about is redundant. Infertility is hard. I’m frustrated and angry and sad. Blah blah blah blah.
Obviously the second IUI was a total failure like the first. We have one more shot with IUI then we can move on to IVF. With this next round I’m going to do all the shit everyone says to do so that I won’t look back when we’re spending 20x’s the money on IVF and wish I would have tried harder with IUI. So on the line up for this month is: HypnoFertility, acupuncture, chiropractic, therapy, fertility group meetings, Chinese medicine and yoga. No one can say I didn’t try everything.
I’m emotionally exhausted, physically exhausted and my body is basically just a vessel for synthetic hormones that make all of this exhaustion unbearably worse. If I didn’t have a little sliver of hope somewhere hidden away deep inside of me I would just say fuck it. Sometimes it feels like there is a vice on my stomach and whenever I see a baby or a pregnant person or a happy family with their children it tightens and I want to fall to my knees and cry. I feel like not a day goes by that I’m not fighting tears. Fuck infertility.
If it wasn’t for Louie and Shelby and my friends and family who listen to me and work to make sure that the dirt from the hole I’m digging myself is getting filled up with love, I would be deep in depression.
I’ve thrown myself into little house projects to keep my mind busy. Our beautiful home is finally perfect and yet all I can think about is that I might never get to make a nursery. I’ve been cooking and baking and I still wonder if I’ll ever have a little helper like I was with my mom. It feels like every single thing I do reminds me of how childless and how not pregnant I am.
Obviously this is a bad day, and I’m not always this insanely emotional. I just figured I’d update for anyone who was wondering. Maybe with this next cycle I’ll update more, about other things along with the treatment. I don’t know. It’s hard. I feel like I’m just whining now and I hate whiners.
So, I’m off to refill my Clomid prescription. Not looking forward to the hot flashes, migraines and insane mood swings. If I’m not popping Tylenol like candy I’m ripping off my clothes and fanning myself with anything I can get my hands on or screaming at Louie to turn on the fan. Basically what I’m saying is my husband is a saint.