Sad. Mad. Bitter Childish Ramblings.

Just plain pissed.  And a lot o bit sad.  Tears come at strange and completely unexpected times.  I HATE the fcuking finality of this all.  Hate it.  I hate that other people, fertile people, don’t have to have this decision made for them by their body.  I hate that I would do it again, even though it drove me and my family completely upside-down crazy for a three week stretch.  IVF in the suburbs-to-the-city, with no family, a 13-hour a day working husband, and small children is not for the weak.  And I hate that I can’t do it again, at least, not anytime soon, as I made a promise that is SO DAMN HARD TO KEEP.  I promised my husband I would leave the crazy behind and move forward.  I am currently wondering if I will need any type of therapy to help me do so–and I’m also DAMN MAD that I might need therapy to help me keep a FCUKING PROMISE.  Who does that?  I am mad and sad that the existence of my two amazing little boys isn’t enough to quiet this voice in my heart.  Why can’t I just embrace the blessings of the past and the present and just LET GO of this one last dream?  I feel so utterly selfish and ridiculous.


I am MAD that I am going to no doubt put some hope in the embryos I have left (five, I think?  Two from the miscarriage cycle of ’09 and three from a failed Dec’09.  And those last puppies are NOT.GOOD.EMBRYOS.  Pretty sure they froze a PQ or a YZ or something.  Extra room in their freezer at the time?  Who knows).  I am sad and mad that I will have to get some hope built up for those cycles, and they might not happen, they might not thaw, and then they likely will not work.  Or I can think they will, and get my heart crushed further.  I am mad and sad that I will think I might be one of those people to get pregnant on her own even though she has shittastic eggs and a HOSTILE AS SHIT UTERUS…23decent embryos?  2 children?  Seriously???????????  I am mad and sad that I will likely drink wheatgrass and pump my body full of alleged fertility aids, and use OPKs and have timed relations… I am sad and mad that I might hold out hope that it could work (clearly, I am dumber than dirt, as 23 embryos and 2 children…why doesn’t it sink in to my head?)


I am mad and sad that T thinks we can “try again” in ”a few years” if we “decide we want to.” Or that he “isn’t convinced it won’t ever happen.”  I will have approximately one egg left then.  And I know that I will jump at that chance and do it and work that one little egger to the ground.  Because I am like that.  Persistent.  Head.  Wall.  Bang.  Repeat.


This, my third child, the one I will likely never meet, never know what it is like to have and hold and complete the circle we have started…is the one thing I have pursued with every strength, and it is the one thing I have failed at.  Hard work does not equal success.  Focus, strength, determination, prayer…does not equal success.  Desire, persistence…does not equal success.  Not where infertility is concerned.  Life is not fair–I get it.  I tell my son this all of the time.  And when he whines and says “This is the WORST DAY EVER” I can’t even bring myself to agree with him in a sarcastic jest, because I have known my own sort of “worst day evers”– countless failed cycles, the losses of his two brothers…I can’t.  I know we all have our burdens to bear, and the saying goes, if we saw other people’s dirty laundry, we would always choose to take our own back home.  I’m not so sure of that some days.


Tomorrow we’ll drag ourselves into the city.  I’ll see that waiting room for the last time (embryos frozen at previous clinic).  And that will be that.  The door will be closed on this.  If only my heart wasn’t so damn gaping open.

One Comment, Comment or Ping

  1. It’s like your heart is in a grindstone. ((((hugs)))))

    February 20th, 2012

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