It’s a quietly sunny morning. I sip my coffee, trying desperately to ignore the fever-pitch anxiety that richochets around inside my skull. It’s always like this. I can never just rest.
Tomorrow we travel, to visit my in-laws. We leave early, so it will be a scramble but that’s okay. I am armed to the teeth with tranquilizers, I’ll breathe deep. I don’t actually know my husband’s family well, seeing as they’re a plane trip away.
I bring baggage as well as luggage. Bipolar I. Panic disorder. Female infertility. Recurrent pregnancy loss. These words are glued to my face, providing a real disadvantage when trying to bond with new people. Whatever. I’ll do my best.
Of course, our trip coincides with predicted ovulation time–the logistics of trying to catch my egg are mind-boggling. We can do this. This month, I am determined. But I know no matter how hard we try, the cycle will end with blood.
Wish me bon voyage.