Which, I suppose is obvious.
I really don’t want to go in to this appointment tomorrow. Not: “I’m not looking forward to it,” but rather: “I’m trying to find an excuse so that I cannot physically be there.”
I don’t want to cry in front of these people. Again. Not that they haven’t seen me crying (and raging, and helplessly weepy, and giddily happy) before, but I’m tired of being the emotional basket-case that I am, and I’m tired of these near-strangers having access to my most emotional moments. I just am. They have access to all my most vulnerable physical bits, I’m sick of granting them access to my most vulnerable emotional bits as well, but at the moment, I haven’t the strength to keep them out, and I know I’ll dissolve into weepiness at the first sign of sympathy. Yuck.
I don’t want to ask my stupid questions about “isn’t it possible – even a teeny weeny bit – that this might still turn out to be viable?” I know the answer is “no”, but I cannot fathom taking the poison-shot tomorrow without asking it out loud of my doctor. I mean, my mother had heavy periods all through both pregnancies – as did my gram. Maybe it’s genetic? She also had no morning sickness or other ‘symptoms’ – so maybe I’m just a low hCG producer and this baby’s just tucked away somewhere and happily growing? Please? Why not? Please?
And obviously, I know that’s not the case here, and I know that. I do. But I want it so badly, and it just feels like there’s someone I ought to be able to appeal this stupid verdict to. Like if I want it badly enough, then I’ll deserve it and my wish will be granted? Like if I make a really good, logical case for why this ought to have worked out differently, the fates will take pity on me and change things around to suit me? It’s like part of me is thinking if I can come up with a really good reason why things could be the way they are and still be okay, that, well, everything would be okay.
And it’s not. And it won’t be. And tomorrow I should be finding out how long a hiatus between conception attempts this is going to be. (Remember that fortune about “a sense of urgency”? Hah. I’ll show you sense of urgency. Just check in here say, about February. Make it my first due date. I’ll show you urgency…) Anyway, Dr. Google has mandated anywhere from 2 weeks to 6 months between ‘tries’. Apparently the half-life of methotrexate is measured in hours, but it somehow sucks all the folic acid out of your body? I’m not really completely 100% sure on this, but it seems to be a risk of neural tube defects if you get pregnant too soon afterwards. And yes, that would suck. A lot.
So am I seriously going to have to use birth control for what might be the last half-year in which I might possibly ever get pregnant on my own? I might just perish from the irony.
Not to mention, I think my head might explode, at the idea of having to wait 6 months to begin trying again. To begin trying to trick fate, to pull the wool over the eyes of the asshole fairy godmother who hates me. It’s not like I’m getting to being trying to have a baby, it’s more that I feel I’m going to have to wait to PROVE that I can’t get a baby past, say, 10 weeks gestation. I’m waiting to prove it can’t be done so that I can focus on something that has an actual chance of resulting in a baby like, say, turning over every cabbage leaf in the garden. Or maybe taking up stork-hunting as a hobby.
I’m feeling a little cursed, right now. truth to tell. If I knew a neighborhood bruja, I’d be going and asking if she could remove this damned maldición so that I could get on with my life. (Oh yeah, and if she could do anything about this goddamned fucking infertility shit I’m dealing with, I’d totally appreciate it, and light a candle (or 300) to any saint she cared to credit.)
I miss living in Tucson. I’m thinking a visit to a bruja would be pretty damned comforting compared to what tomorrow morning’s going to be like, and I’m thinking I’d feel at least as confident in the reassurance of her answers.
Oh Sprog. I’m sorry it’s so hard right now. The whole thing just totally sucks. I’m here on my couch in Manhattan typing and you’re (I think) somewhere in Brooklyn suffering, and I just hope that on top of how much this stinks you aren’t also feeling alone.
I hear you on not wanting to be emotional in front of the staff tomorrow. I hear you on how vulnerable you feel right now. And I completely hear you on the injustice and insanity of possibly having to take birth control for a period of time to prevent the very thing you want more than anything in the world (please ask for more info on that – can’t they give you an IV bag of folic acid or something to shorten the wait??!)
The only thing I can say is that it won’t always feel like this (thank goodness). that doesn’t fix the now, but sometimes it can make it a little more bearable.
Thinking of you.
I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am that you are going through this. Please take the time you need to be angry and grieve. I am thinking of you…
hugs,
em
Sprog, sometimes life just sucks so much more than it ever should. Why, why, why? Sigh.
I wish with every fiber of my being that I could change this outcome for you, or at least lighten the load.
I’ll be thinking of you tomorrow….
I am so sorry that you have to go through this. But OMG… 2 to 6 months?!? I think I might just faint! I had no idea. Oh I so hate the limbo state of in-between cycles. It drives me crazy. Nobody should be in that torturous state. It should be like you are either PG or going through a treatment cycle! Ugh!
I know none of this is helping but like Mo said, do ask if you can shorten the wait! And let us know… cause I might be following your footsteps with the poison shot myself. Don’t know yet!
GL with tomorrow’s appt. I will be thinking of you.
That really sucks. I know the feeling. With my first chemical I remember sobbing after I heard that my levels dropped and I remember asking over and over if there was a chance…it is so heartbreaking. I remember thinking if I quit taking the PIO I was potentially going to kill my baby – that it was still growing inside of me even though intellectually I knew it was not….
My heart goes out to you.