As if the emotional pain of a failed cycle wasn’t bad enough, for the past two days I’ve been doubled over in physical pain with the worst. cramps. ever. I’m pretty sure my uterus is trying to eat my other organs.
There’s so much I’ve wanted to write about regarding the sucktitude of the past week, but between the depression, anger, sadness, and now soul-sucking cramps, I haven’t been able to string two coherent sentences together, so bullets it is:
→ Hubby pronounced Tuesday night that “We have to move on.” A mere four days after first getting the news that our one and only chance at having a baby in the near future was a big fat failure. Must be nice to be able to get over life-altering news so quickly.
→ That same night, I woke up at 2 am with intense nausea. For a wild, fleeting moment, I thought, “Two negative betas were wrong. I am pregnant. Stupid medical science, misdiagnosing all the time.” Then I proceeded to throw up five times in just over four hours. Decidedly still not pregnant. Just sick as a dog.
→ Last night, I finally came up with a witty comeback to Hubby’s statement earlier in the week. (Yes, it often takes me three days to do this.) “Easy for you to say when you’re not the one cramping and bleeding.” I also informed him he will never know what it’s like to experience the physical symptoms of not being pregnant. At least he didn’t try to argue with that logic.
→ My therapist told me this week that I’m coping very well. Doesn’t feel like it.
→ I bailed on my writing group, citing our recent failure and the fact that I’m not taking the news very well. If I can’t write here, I certainly can’t be expected to write poetry.
→ Our guys lost in the first round of the NCAA tournament. To a much lower-ranked seed. I just looked at Hubby and said, “Can nothing go right for us this week?”
That pretty much sums it up. Everything still sucks, but at least we’re not Georgetown.