I am expecting AF today, but so far she hasn't showed. We've been doing Lupron shots for a week now, and we're opening up our second bottle of meds, and the bottle I ordered on 3/5 still hasn't arrived yet even though the USPS tracking says it was in Chicago on 3/16. Starting to get a little nervous. I have enough meds for two more weeks. SURELY the new bottle will arrive by then...??
Once AF shows I have to call my RE's office for an ultrasound and bloodwork. I'm not looking forward to explaining to them that I miscarried in January. I'm hoping, though, that AF is going to come today, because then I can get an appointment for Friday. If it doesn't come today I'll need a weekend appointment, and that's only going to make my already-somewhat-unfriendly RE even unfriendlier.
I am a blur of emotions right now (part of the reason I know AF is coming, LOL). I am excited and hopeful... even have moments where I'm absolutely certain that this is going to be it for us, that I'm going to have a few relaxing days in Greece, come home and get another string of positive pregnancy tests a couple weeks later, but this time NO BLEEDING, NO CRAMPING, NO SCARIES. Just two weeks, BFP, a couple positive betas, four weeks of excited bliss, a first ultrasound showing a perfectly normal developing sac (or two), and on to morning sickness, more ultrasounds, and relatively smooth sailing for the next nine months.
But I am also still angry, maybe even a little in disbelief over January's loss. It still feels incomprehensible that I'm not pregnant anymore. I should have a baby the size of an avocado right now. I should be wearing maternity clothes, decorating a nursery, and heck... I might know the baby's gender by now. I should be posting weekly bump photos to Facebook and keeping a pregnancy journal and just... celebrating life.
Instead I'm planning another trip to Greece. Quietly, trying to keep it as short and low-key as possible. I'm trying to think of it as a nice little mini-vacation, a chance to read, work on my next book, rest - and not think of it as a long, exhausting, lonely, somewhat scary trip to a foreign country all alone where I don't speak the language and have to figure out how to call taxis by myself and whether it's safe to walk a few blocks from my hotel at night to eat dinner alone. And in that sense I feel sad, and scared, and maybe a little depressed. While I do have moments where I'm certain it's going to work, there are just as many moments when the fatalist in me is equally sure that I'm going to go, force myself to stab my own stomach with a needle, go through the pinchy-pressure of the transfer all alone, fly for hours and hours and hours and hours, only to get a BFN two weeks later and be no closer to having a baby than I am right now and completely broke, with months and months and months to go before I can try for a third and final time. Or worse, I get pregnant and miscarry again. I keep thinking about that bitter Italian lady that I got stuck next to during the two hour recovery time at the clinic - how it was her second attempt and she spent most of the time talking about how she was sure it wasn't going to work. I hear a lot of her in my own thoughts right now and I don't like it. One resolution - I am for SURE not going to allow myself to burst the bubble of anybody else while I'm there. I may not be able to keep the negativity out of my own head, but I am sure as heck not going to plant it in anybody else's. That's just mean.
I want to cry. I also desperately want to hope, but only if this time is actually going to result in a baby. I'd rather not have any hope at all than go through that disappointment again. But it's not like I can really complain, since I'm the one who's choosing to stay in this game. That means I'm choosing to risk more disappointment, which is still more appealing right now than the thought of giving up. So I may be feeling bitter and disgusted with the universe, but I guess I still must have hope in there somewhere. As much as I'd like to throw my hands in the air and exclaim theatrically that I'm DONE, as much as I hate hate hate the idea of false hope, I must not have really given up yet... because I'm going back. That has to count for something, right?
The excitement of my new book launch has mostly worn off. In a sense it feels a little anticlimactic, actually, because it doesn't feel like I've gotten as much feedback as I guess I was expecting. I've been filling the time in the past few days with designing Disney-princess-themed work outfits on Polyvore and trying not to think too much. I'm taking my prenatal faithfully, along with a slew of other vitamins. I filled my mini-fridge at work with salad stuff. I'm trying to drink water, though I'm not very good at it. I'm trying to stay focused at work, though I'm not doing a good job of that this week either.
I'm tired today, and highly emotional, and also restless. So basically, PMSy. The one thing that I do know is that while right now the moment of truth feels so far away - end of April/beginning of May, probably, before I'll know if this round works - it will eventually get here. Time keeps marching on. Not as fast as I want it to, I'm still really wishing for that fast-forward button - but it will eventually get here, and I'll have my answer for better or worse.
If it works, the due date would be early January next year.
I just have to keep my eye on next month's calendar, and keep making it through the days. Someday when I'm old and gray I'll probably look back at this time and wish that I'd spent more time enjoying the days I did have instead of wishing they'd hurry by. Perspective is such a tricky thing.
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