IVF#2 12DP5DT - Beta Day

Another BFN on the HPT last night. Got up early this morning, let Kaitlin give me my heparin shot, took my meds, and went to the doctor's office for the blood draw. Just waiting to get the results this afternoon so that I can stop taking the medication. I have never wanted confirmation of a BFN more than I do right now. I know that we failed. But I wish I was wrong, so badly, that I am desperate for that piece of paper that tells me I can stop going through the motions. Stop taking the medication, stop wondering about every little twinge, stop worrying about cold medicine and coffee and alcohol and just get on with my still-childless life.

I don't remember the other BFNs being this hard. I don't remember being in this much pain while at work even during the miscarriage... probably because in that case, I took days off through the worst of it. I don't feel like I deserve days off for just another BFN. It's not like my life is over. I'm not even physically as uncomfortable as I am during a normal AF. I just feel a whole lot of nothing. A whole lot of empty. My emotions are on overdrive because of the estrogen, and I can't wait to be able to stop taking it.

My heart is so broken. I feel so broken. Thirty thousand dollars later, we are no closer to having a baby in our arms than we were when we started. I am tired and bitter and more sad than I know how to put into words. I don't know how to give up on this. Yet I don't know how I can keep going, either. How do people do this? How do they get through years and years of this? How do they AFFORD it?

All I want right now is retail therapy. After months of scrimping and saving and forgoing every little thing I wanted in order to add pennies to our TTC savings account, all I want is to buy anything that seems like it might make me feel better. And it's probably the worst and most self-destructive thing I can do, because money is what makes the TTC journey go round. I'm going to be paying off the debt we're already in for the next ten years, and we didn't even get a baby out of it.

Today is a sucktacular day, and all I can think about is getting to that test result - just a few more hours now, I can make it that long, right? - so that I can go home, hate my life, drink a bottle of wine, cry until I can't think anymore, and wake up tomorrow without meds, without injections, without hope. Right now the greatest happiness available to me will be hopelessness. At least if there's no hope, it doesn't hurt so much.

So I realize that writing all of this out, the fact that this is the way my heart really feels, the fact that this is, I guess, the whiny, bitter, self-centered person I actually am, is pretty revealing, isn't it? I don't like the person that I am right now. I don't want to be this negative. I don't want to be this angry.  I don't want to be such a diva about things that aren't going right in my life. After all, the world doesn't revolve around me. And I should be spending this time caring for other people's problems and sadness instead of wallowing in my own. One of the girls at the RE's office today called me a "trooper." I wanted to hug her and punch her at the same time. It's nice that someone might think of me that way, but I know it's a lie. Because I'm not trooping, I'm drowning in self-pity and failure and pain and jealousy and anger and tears.

I want to be a strong person, a courageous person who faces disappointment with love and kindness and selflessness and grace, but I'm not. I'm tapped out, I've got nothing left. Today it's all about surviving through the next ten seconds. And then the next ten seconds. And then the next. Until life has moved on enough that I can move on too.

So.

Once I get the results I'm not waiting for the Greek clinic to tell me to stop the meds, I'm just stopping. When I send them the results, I'll ask them for another Lupron prescription, so that I can order the meds again  - it will take a month or more to get them so I might as well get them ordered now. That will be another $537. I'll also ask her to tell me how long they would recommend I wait before trying again, and how much their fee will be for a third attempt. Then I spend the next couple of weekends selling everything possible on Ebay and Craigslist. I avoid driving anywhere I don't have to drive, I eat as little as possible and avoid grocery shopping for as long as possible. I don't buy anything else for my little doll or sewing supplies. When I get my next royalty check the whole thing goes into the TTC savings account. I just literally don't spend ANYTHING, don't buy ANYTHING, that is not absolutely necessary. I avoid seeing my family, especially my pregnant SIL, as much as humanly possible - which is going to be really difficult over the summer, since that's the time when we all have birthdays and get together monthly, and I don't know how I'm going to get out of all of them.

And maybe, just MAYBE, we'll be able to take another stab at this in July or August. It will be the last. If it doesn't work... It will be a year before I can even begin to hope to have enough money to do anything else. Of course, I keep saying that, and as soon as failure strikes I seem to come up with another way to find money. I suppose a fourth try could go entirely on a credit card, but that just seems really stupid. Though adoption fees... If I spent money on an adoption and home study before the end of this year, I think I could get it all pretty much back in taxes next year. So maybe that's what we'll have to do... try one more IVF, and if it doesn't work, sign up with an adoption agency, charge the whole fee to a credit card, then write it off on taxes so that we get it refunded... and wait to see if there's any birth mother out there who will choose us.

Funny, how all the IVF bloggers I've found and followed never really seem to talk much about the money part of their attempts. Maybe they have insurance covering them, or have a partner who's footing the bills, or someone lending it to them, I don't know. But I don't have any of that, and it's maybe the biggest stressor of this entire process, worse even than the hormones and the injections and the TWW.

And the only thing that keeps me going right now is knowing that if we ever DO get a baby out of all of this, it will all suddenly seem more than worth it. It would be something I would do over again without question, if I KNEW the outcome was going to be eventual success. But right now we're in that uncertain limbo where never-succeeding is still a very real possibility, and then all of this is going to be the biggest waste, the biggest losing bet, of my life.

Break's over. Have to get started on some actual work now... the last thing I need is to get fired on top of everything else.