Every week I plan out what I want to write about next. I try and think about things we’ve gone through and what might help others. I had my post for this week already thought out. And then life happened. So I’m changing directions. I’m going to put it all out there on what we’re going through at this exact moment. Extremely raw and vulnerable. I debated on posting this picture. For me, it’s super personal. I wanted it to remind me of what I had to go through. Of what we had to go through. I wanted it, just in case I got pregnant this time. So I can look back and say “Maybe, in that moment, it was all starting to work out for us.” Honestly though, I decided to post it because I think it’s beautiful. It’s a beautiful reminder of what’s to come. A beautiful reminder that Greg is in this with me and I’m not alone. A beautiful reminder of the stronger marriage that we’re building through this.
A few weeks back, I started my fertility meds. I took the Clomid that I mentioned a few posts back, along with Follistim shots, and the “trigger” shot. And then had an IUI. We were so excited. This was the most we had ever done, so we were sure it was going to work. And then yesterday morning I started my period. It didn’t work. Another month gone by with no baby.
When you go through infertility any steps you take, any medicines you take, any procedures you have feel like it’s going to work. You keep thinking, “Oh this has to be it. I can feel it. I really think I’m pregnant this time.” You can’t help but get excited. You can’t help but plan. Because it’s better to be hopeful and excited than negative right?
But the fall from that hopefulness is a hard one. It’s a devastating, soul crushing crash. The pain and anger instantly consume you. Almost unbearable. “Why? Why not me? Why not yet? Why do I have to keep waiting? When will it be me? How much more do I have to put my body through?” This is what it’s been like for me the past two days.
From the moment I woke up to that monthly “visitor” yesterday, all I’ve done is ask myself those questions. All I’ve done is cried and laid on my couch. And cried some more. I’ve done the absolute bare minimum. I’ve done the exact things on my list of things to do for work and nothing more. And I cried in between everyone of those tasks. I have not wanted to talk to anyone. Honestly, I didn’t even want to talk to Greg. It’s like you just want to be by yourself. No distractions. No one to try to hold a conversation with. No one to try to pretend you’re okay with. You don’t want to hear someone say “It’s going to be okay.” You don’t want someone trying to give you advice. Especially from people that have no clue as to what you’re going through. That’s how it is for my anyway. It’s like I have to have a few days to really sit in my pain and feel it. I think that’s what helps me keep going. I’m able to get all of those intense overwhelming feelings out right then all at once. I don’t bottle them up just to erupt later. That way, after a day or two, I can get up and move forward.
Don’t get me wrong. The pain will still be there tomorrow as I go to work. And the next day after that and so on. But it’s not quite as intense. Honestly, the pain will be there until I am holding that baby in my arms. But I have to keep going. I know that every bit of this pain (physical and emotional) will be worth it. The grief is big, but I have to be bigger. I have to live my life in such a big and fulfilled way that the grief doesn’t swallow me whole. I have to keep going for Greg. My person. My other half. We deserve to and will have a family, so I have to keep going until that happens for us. I just have to hold onto that. I have to hold onto that as we take the next steps. And if you’re where I’m at in this, I’m sorry. And I’m here.