I am really struggling. After leaving the RE’s office last month we felt better because we finally had a diagnosis and a vague treatment and conception plan. Two weeks later I haven’t heard from our HMO so I call to follow up. Our HMO had not received the consult letter from the RE. I phoned the RE assuming the HMO was full of shit and trying to cover up their mistake. Come to find out the RE (whom we are expected to pay out of pocket) went on vacation right after our visit and forgot to dictate our consult and send it to our HMO. His little oversight will put us at least a month behind, if not more, in our plan. WTF? It literally feels like the entire universe is against us conceiving. Sounds paranoid, fantastical and even crazy, but it feels so true.
In addition, this cycle I was late. Late with other physical symptoms which haven’t occurred since I was pregnant last June. We hadn’t even thought about getting pregnant this month since the wrong ovary was ovulating, etc. Two days late is a lot for me and so I went to the HMO to take a test. It was negative. That was so frustrating! Had I just started on time, I would never have had any hope, but being late made me think it was a possibility. This all happened earlier this week and I get to end the week with Easter dinner with Husband’s family.
I don’t want to go to Easter dinner with Brat, Wife and their baby for whom my hatred for has been increasing daily. That baby embodies everything wrong in my life and is a constant reminder that everything just happens for them. It’s becoming increasingly painful because they now spend a bit of time with the extended family, which they never used to do, but now the baby makes them the center of attention, and so there are more people posting photos of her on Facebook and commenting about how adorable and smart she is. She’s not particularly either of those things, she’s just a baby. No more special than any of the other fucking babies in the world.
Her baptism is the following Sunday and they made Husband her godfather, which is great-for him. Now it means we have no choice but to be a part of every fucking function for the rest of her precious pink life. By the way, girls can where colors other than pink. I don’t want to go her baptism. It’s going to be excruciatingly painful to watch the entire family fawn over her and endlessly talk about how cute she is, how sweet she is, what a great baby she is…on and on on. It’s hard to stomach. What is worse is how awful I feel, feeling this way. It’s just the worst part of me, and I can’t control it.
As things get worse for Husband and I on the fertility front, I’m focusing my anger on the people who have pissed me off including that stupid baby. What I feel is straight-up hate and it’s so ugly. That baby didn’t do anything wrong, other than be born to people I despise, and logically I know it’s wrong for me to feel this way toward her. As all the setbacks occur, my job disappointment increases and family b.s. continues, I am slipping deeper into depression. Every choice I have made has led to a less desirable situation and right now I want to go back. Go back to the east coast, back to my dream career that I left, despite being unhappy in the particular office I was in, go back to friends who don’t have babies and can travel or go out without having to time everything around naps and feedings. Things were not ideal back there, but they were at least different than this. Stuck. I feel stuck and it’s making it more difficult for me to handle these fertility issues.
In an effort to educate myself on IVF and other treatments I checked out many books from the library. I’m desperate to find something to help us, mainly me, cope better. The self-help books were shit. I can’t even bring myself to share any of the absurd information because it enrages me. What has been interesting are the memoirs of people going through all this crap. Even though they are all writers, artists, wealthy world travelers, I can still relate to them. To read about their pain, the fighting, the constantly dashed hopes and absolute obsession with having a baby, makes me feel normal. While I am reading, I don’t feel like an outsider, I don’t feel shame or less-than. Connecting with these strangers through their stories allows me to breathe for a moment, to recognize we are not alone (though Husband and I truly are). At the very least these men and women reassure me that the emotions and pain are not in my head, they are real and experienced by all of us going through this.
However, the memoirs either end in miracle conception or adoption and the closer we get to that, the less interested I am in doing so. When we started out I believed adoption would be fine, the deeper in we get, the less willing I am to adopt. I want to be pregnant, I want to carry Husband’s baby inside me and experience birth. I can be honest, it’s not just about having a baby, it’s about the entire experience and I don’t want to be excluded from that. As our options dwindle and the treatments we are facing will require us to mortgage our home I’m getting more desperate to conceive and carry to term a healthy baby. All of this desire and desperation are fueling my anger and hatred. I feel out of control and have no idea how to calm myself down. Drinking isn’t helping, running isn’t helping, holding back and/or sharing with Husband isn’t helping, deep breaths and other new age bullshit isn’t working. Even writing isn’t helping, but I have to get this out of my head.