The last week has been hard. I’ve been pretty down in the dumps since my last therapy session, and today’s wasn’t any better. I was angry about my conversation with D, and I’m already anticipating the anniversary of my mother’s death this weekend. (I’ll write more about that later.)
My head still hurts from crying. Dr. N reiterated her assertions that I’m too hard on myself. I never imagined I would take a failed cycle this hard for this long. I never imagined a failed IVF cycle at all. Logically, I knew there was a chance it wouldn’t work, but Dr. C kept repeating that magic number. Seventy-five. He gave us a 75% chance that this would work.
And, speaking of stupid odds, on top of everything, there was Hubby’s “final four” shot at getting a job in his field of study. He hasn’t heard anything officially, but at this point, we’re assuming there is no offer coming his way.
I yelled at him for pulling the front off one of the drawers in the kitchen the other night. It was only his fault in that he doesn’t know his own strength. The drawer, like the rest of our kitchen, is old, and there’s not even a smooth track for it to glide on. It doesn’t fit properly, and my guess is that it was so misaligned that it wouldn’t have mattered how hard Hubby pulled, the drawer was not coming out. So the front broke off, leaving nails askew and wood splintered. I tried to fix it myself, but it’s going to require replacing a piece of wood, and that falls under the domain of our landlady, not me.
Anyway, as I banged around with the hammer, looked for wood glue, and eventually gave up, I became more and more infuriated. I attempted to slam the drawer–unfixed–back into place, and gave myself a splinter in the process. At which point I became unhinged. I screamed at Hubby. He responded by imploring me to calm down. “It’s just a drawer,” he said. “Yeah,” I responded in a huff, “because that’s all this is about.”
We had Chinese tonight, and my fortune said, “You should be able to undertake and complete anything you desire.”
Maybe one of these days, I’ll be able to write about something pleasant that happened. Some normal moment. Like asking my coworker about her vacation. Or having a text conversation with my sister that made me laugh out loud. And while those things happened this week, that day is not today.