square one

Hello all.

It’s been a while.  I haven’t really had anything to say, so I haven’t said anything.
When I’m hurting  I don’t want to share because it’s too painful,  and when I’m not hurting I don’t want to share because I just don’t want to think about it directly for  a while.   That, and/or I get so exhausted lately between working all day and not really sleeping very well at night that  I just haven’t had the energy to write when I want to.

There is a bit of news, however.  We went back to the fertility clinic,  and this past month I did an IUI with injectables cycle.  Lots of stabbing myself in the leg at night and then getting prodded with the ultrasound wand in the morning.
Now The Wait has begun.  Interesting/ironic thing is that the day I am scheduled to go in for the blood test to see if it worked is the day my son was due.
I know it’s unhealthy to do the obsessing over possible dates thing, but it’s fully impossible not to this time.  I did that every month for three years before this last pregnancy finally happened:
If it happens THIS month then I’ll be due on Husband’s birthday! It’s a sign!
If it happens THIS month, then I’ll be due on my mother’s birthday! It’s a sign!
If it happens THIS month then I’ll be due on Easter! It’s a sign!

The last one was due on Easter, but he was stillborn in mid-December.  And now it will be Easter when I find out if the next one is on it’s way, and mid-December is when it would be due.

But still I tell myself  I’m not getting my hopes up  (I am totally getting my hopes up), and that the dates and timing mean nothing to me (those dates mean everything to me).

I released two eggs,  and Husband -who doesn’t fully understand how the whole thing works no matter how many times I explain it-  is acting like that means I’m already pregnant with twins.   Talk about counting your eggs before they hatch.  I don’t let on, but it’s annoying the crap out of me how fucking “hopeful” he’s being.   When we leave the doctor’s office he’s an overly perky cheerleader/coach, saying with a big goofy grin how I should be excited we’re doing this.   This is his way of trying to negate the cranky “my crotch hurts” look I usually have on my face at this time.  “Okay, let me spread YOUR genitals open with a speculum for a little while, Dear, while you look at a blank ultrasound screen where your wiggly little boy used to be… and then I’ll just send you right back to work while you’re still sore from the spreader and goofed up on hormone shots.  That does sound ‘exciting’, doesn’t it?”    Yeah, I can be kind of a bitch these days…

Seeing as how April 9 will be an intensely difficult day for me already, it may have been a bad idea to pile on such heavy and expensive expectations onto the whole thing.   But I needed to be doing something.   It has been unbelievably stressful, but not trying this hard would have made me crazy(er).  The shots and the doctor’s visits and the blood draws (and even the cluelessly hopeful Husband) have been a welcome distraction and a painful reminder at the same time.  I get to feel like I’m actively working toward the next pregnancy, but every time I see that empty ultrasound screen I remember why I have to work so anxiously hard in the first place.

Meanwhile, I have been mostly stable.  The major breakdowns are down to about one every 3 weeks.  Those are the ones where I get sick of everybody asking me if I’m all better now and I want to run screaming through a brick wall.  Then I sleep it off,  pull myself together, and go about my week being as “positive” as possible.

I really do feel “better” most of the time… I just hate it when people ask me if I do.

Happy Spring, everyone.  And thank you all so much for the encouragement, kind words, and prayers.