“Your test results came in, and I’m sorry Heather, but it’s negative”.
The words I have come to expect over the last 5 years of trying to start a family, but still not easy to hear.
In fact, this may have been the hardest one to cope with so far.
There is something so heart breaking about letting your guard down. While being closely monitored by a Reproductive Endocrinologist you kind of get to witness each step of the process. I called my nurse on the first day of my cycle and was told to begin Clomid on day 3. On day 14 I began going to the office every other day to have an ultrasound and blood work that monitored my ovaries progress towards creating follicles. This went on for nearly two weeks, as my follicles were slow-growing. FINALLY, it was time. There was ONE developed enough to release an egg. It was on this day that I administered my first shot. It wasn’t painful. And it actually gave me some hope. Hope that this shot would TRIGGER my follicle to release an egg. I was convinced that this could have been my problem all this time. PCOS causes follicles to grow but not rupture, leaving your egg trapped and eventually to disintegrate (hence the cysts). This shot was going to help get me pregnant.
This is where I foolishly let my guard down. I allowed myself to be convinced that we would conceive this month. Everything worked as it was supposed to. I KNEW I ovulated, and I KNEW I released that egg.
I swore, a little over a week after I ovulated I even felt implantation pain. This was it. This was the month I got to surprise Mike.
Wednesday morning I work up early to make my way to Portland. I was scheduled for a Beta test, and would find out in just a few hours that me and Mikes whole life was about to change.
Only it wasn’t. After this long, you would think you become numb to a negative pregnancy test. But as I sat in an empty office at work listening to the nurse, I felt tears running down my face. I could feel my skin getting hot, and realized I wasn’t really processing anything she was telling me. How could this be happening? How could it not have worked AGAIN. How many rounds of this can I really afford before we have to give up?
Most of the rest of my day was a blur. I just sat in a hazed state, thinking about the text I would receive at 3:30 when Mikes shift was finished. Getting to tell him for nearly the 60th time, that we again, are not pregnant.
I’m not looking for sympathy by writing this. I just wish there was a way for others to understand the heart crushing feeling of waiting 30 days every single month. Being poked and prodded every other day. Having ultrasounds regularly when you’re tender and bloated from medications. Knowing in the back of your mind that your biological clock is indeed ticking, and there is a time constraint. Allowing yourself to feel hopeful again, just for all hope to be taken away in a matter of seconds. And the feeling of having absolutely no control over your body, or the things that it does [or doesn’t do].
Not all diseases are visible. Be kind to others. You have NO IDEA what people are going through.
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