This was drafted on Wednesday, October 31. I didn't post it because it need refinement, but I just don't care anymore. This is what is happening this week.
I really wanted, actually thought, we'd be pregnant enough to share the news at Christmas this year. This of course will not be happening.
Today I had a follicle scan, which after my first dose of Clomid in months, shows that only the right ovary had GIGANTIC follicles, while my left ovary, the one with the tube still available, had eight tiny follicles.
Crying while lying on the bed in the ultrasound room as the tech began, as they always do, on the right side.
Whatever, the details don't matter. What matters is I am so upset that I keep thinking I need to do something drastic: quit my job, tell Brat and Wife what I really think of them, book a trip to Paris for just me...get my job back in Maryland and move away.
As I've said before, each month we are not pregnant, each time I see some fat, poor, ignorant, cruel woman pregnant, I get so angry. It sends me down that list of all that is wrong in my life, all the things I gave up and how stuck I feel and it's all for nothing. Nothing.
I want to burn the Bible, tell my in-laws how flawed their logic is, educate the innocent on pain. I want everyone I come across to know my pain, and to force upon them new pain.
Husband asked me if I was okay. I replied "no, I'm not." when he asked what he could do I told him he could find a baby, put it in my uterus, make it so I could give birth and breast feed. Clearly, I am not okay.
It occurred to me that life does not really go on for us infertiles. This is not life. This is hell. This is bullshit.
Now it's Saturday, November 3rd and I got a positive OPK today. We will try to conceive despite the fact it's the wrong ovary (ironically it's always the right ovary that produces, even though there is no fucking fallopian tube). There is still a slight possibility, right? If we don't try every month, no matter how slim the odds, how could I forgive myself?