The Aftermath

When my first IUI failed I fell apart.  I had been keeping the hope this entire time that we just needed a little nudge, that this would be our answer.  But it wasn’t.  And the disappointment from that literally broke me down.  It did not help that the fertility doctor that we were seeing was playing around with new drugs and not getting the results from those drugs that he wanted to see.  When I questioned him on it he would get defensive or cut me off or flat out not give me an answer.  During the second IUI the nurse and the doctor started to discuss the position of my uterus.  They were using terms like “Retroverted Uterus” and they needed to use the ultrasound to inject the IUI.  When I questioned them about it I received no response.

They would not keep me informed about my own body.  He would also get annoyed when I wouldn’t understand his medical jargon.  During my first visit my ovarian reserve numbers were low which no one mentioned until a few visits after my blood draw.  When I asked what that would mean for me, he just repeated the medical definition for it.  There was not one time that I left his office that I didn’t have to get on WebMD and try to find out what the heck was happening.  My distrust in my doctor was one of the reasons why I hinted in my last post that I had doubts of trying a second IUI.

The day that Aunt Flo appeared after that second IUI was a rough day.  My Grandpa had just died that morning.  I spent 4 hours at my Grandma’s, comforting her and my Dad-helping them make phone calls, etc.  I met my husband for lunch when I finally left my Grandma’s house around noon.  Before we left the restaurant I used the restroom and found out I was not pregnant…again.  The feeling I had this time though was not sadness but extreme hot anger.  I walked back to our booth-steaming.  My husband asked if I was ok.  I told him no and promptly stormed out of the restaurant.  I was so angry.  I should have been focusing on the grief I was feeling for losing a man who had been such a huge part of my life.  And it was trumped by my grief for a pregnancy that I may never have.  And it made me angry.  And I was done.  And my husband was done (probably with dealing with my hormonal self).

I called the fertility clinic that week and told them that I would not be returning.  I thought I would feel better once I did that but I didn’t.  It was a terribly hard thing to do.  It almost felt like admitting defeat.  Maybe it meant that I didn’t want this enough.  Sometimes I worry about that.  If I wanted this enough it would happen.  I wouldn’t let something small knock me down.  I would find a way to afford IVF.  I would try natural therapies.  In fact it was this thought that led me into the natural section at a local market here and buy progesterone cream and red raspberry leaf tea.  It was this thought that still had me hooked to my fertility app on my phone.

I never ended up opening the progesterone cream or the tea.  I have to command myself not to track my temperatures.  And definitely not to google or look in my big scary book about “Taking Control of my Fertility”.  This cannot be the main focus of my life.  And I really am trying to move on.  In fact when I found out last week that I was again not pregnant I did not fall apart.  I did not cry or get angry.  I just thought “well at least it was on time”.

But I am still angry and at times I feel what I guess would be-grief.  There are fleeting moments when the thought of “what if I can’t have a child” looms in the back of my head.  It sits there like a dark cloud. The sadness is so profound that I can hardly breathe.  Can someone grieve over the loss of an idea of how their life should be?  That seems to be the only way I can describe this feeling.

Somedays I’m so bitter that I can’t speak to pregnant people.  My sister who is about ready to pop will go on and on about preparing for the new baby.  She’s understandably excited and I am excited for her.  But there are days where I want to scream “I don’t want to talk about your happiness right now!”  I feel like this is probably a normal thought.  But I don’t want to turn in to the type of person that other people feel like they can’t share their happy moments with.  I just try to swallow it down.

And then there are days where I don’t think about it at all.  And those are good days.  I’m hoping with time I can feel more at peace with the whole situation.  Most of all, I don’t want to give up hope.  I want to get back to feeling optimistic about my situation.  It will get there.  Just one day at a time.