A brief moment of sanity. I will do as suggested, try Femara these next two cycles and only freak out about the suspected Asherman’s once I have the testing done. I’m apprehensive about the Femara use, because I know people have diminishing returns over time with it and I don’t want to waste it on dud cycles, but I sort of have nothing to lose at this point. I don’t expect success but I want to minimize regrets and know I did my best when the time comes for me to stop. Yes, I’m still a mess of sorrow and grief (I really got attached to my last lost baby) and hostility — oh, the hostility. I’ve joined some childless after infertility communities where members warn me of a years long healing process. I’m apprehensive to be sure. My cramping has stopped. If the bleeding is not exiting my uterus via my cerix, where is it going? Out my tubes? Ugh, I said I’d not worry about it.
Maybe it is just hormonal. I just started temping this cycle, 98.44 (post-ovulation range) on CD 5, has my temp even dropped from AF (I don’t temp after ovulation is confirmed)? I’m not pregnant, that single tampon of brown blood had to have been my period. I’m confused, alone. I wish people would support me. I feel dead inside, resigned to an awful Fate.
I wish I was more artistic and could paint an accurate picture of Molly the way she appears in my dreams. I had so many hopes for her, now shattered all over the floor where it cuts my feet to ribbons. My second bedroom has started haunting me again, with the brightly colored owl prints I hung on the wall for her. Is it normal to still feel acute pain when I reflect on my baby girl lost almost three years ago? I suppose I would have formed scar tissue over my heart to protect me from the pain had I not faced infertility and recurrent losses in the interim. And now the possible damage to my uterus, oh, why didn’t I wait until my trusted OB could have performed that last D&C?
A lot of people read this blog — I am so in need of kind words right now, I am so broken. My mind is cracking and I hear a chorus of voices telling me I’ll never be a mom. I swear to myself to lay off the tranquilizers, because they only provide about 45 minutes of relief before leaving me sadder than I was before taking them. Geoff is steadfast in his love and support of me, so I know I am truly lucky but I feel completely lost at sea.
As much as I’m trying not to care, I still find this twisted comfort in my hopeless endeavors to track my menstrual cycles. On one hand, these little routines are familiar — this is how I’ve been living for three years. On the other, it’s a daily reminder of constant heartbreak and failure. Still, it’s a relief to wake up in the morning and grab my basal body thermometer, to enter data into Fertility Friend, to obsess about my chart. I think when this is over, what I’ll most miss is the hope.
I wish things had turned out different. I wish I didn’t have disabilities that have precluded employment, a career, and possibly health insurance. Maybe I’d have a baby by now. Sigh. So many regrets are swirling in my head right now. I long to join Scruffy (still conscious, but looking a little rough around the edges) and have a drink and a cigarette — hell, I’m really longing for my fucked up youth which seemed so painful while I was living it, but so carefree in retrospect. What did I have to be crazy about back then? I’d get depressed about boys for Christ’s sake, so depressed I’d end up in the fucking hospital. Psychotic episodes sound like a tropical vacation; at least I was able to escape reality for a couple weeks without spending a fortune on drugs and alcohol. How I’d love a break from my dreary reality — I am so so tired.
I am really at the end of my rope. God, please save my soul.
This is the cat tree I bought my little cat. I hope he likes it! Actually, he damn well better like it, and he damn well better use those five scratching posts and that scratching ramp instead of scratching up our beloved vintage mid-century furniture. The tree was fairly inexpensive, but since all our money’s been going into paying my OB from my last failed pregnancy and D&C, it was nice to splurge on him. He has been my one comfort during my miscarriages, always hopping up to snuggle when I’m crying or just feeling like shit. I also got him his Dental Care treats, as, as I’ve mentioned, he’s managed to develop severe periodontitis at two years old, and eventually we will have to shell out a bunch of cash so he can be anesthetized and have a deep cleaning and possible extractions (thank God for the low-income veterinary clinic that will include all these things for a lowered price, although it’s still a lot of dough). And finally, I got him a catnip filled beaver toy — I had to spend another couple bucks to qualify for free shipping. I know cats can’t replace babies, but it feels good to direct my displaced maternal instincts and dote on him, even if he does get a bit bite-y from time to time and screams all night.