The two of us were on the couch huddled around my iPhone’s speaker yesterday afternoon at 4 o’clock when I heard our nurse say, “…the beta was negative. I’m sorry.”
This one hit me hard. Much harder than our previous tries. I barely even opened my eyes this morning before I started crying again. I made it to work, but I’m not sure how long I’m going to last if I can’t keep the tears at bay. I can’t walk around here like a sad zombie all day.
There’s some other life stress right now, too. I can’t elaborate yet, but suffice it to say that Tuesday is going to be another really rough day. I know what’s coming, and I am dreading it. I seem to have crossed a line from “I can handle this” to “I can’t do this.” Hello, breaking point.
My beautiful wife is trying so hard. She’s devastated too, and she’s trying to keep both of our heads above water. As usual, I’d be lost without her.
I don’t know yet where we’re going to go from here other than that they are insisting on the HSG and are researching where I can get it done that is equipped to handle an iodine allergy and the potential repercussions. I think we’ll just wait to see what the test shows and maybe try again in July.
I’ve been peeing on sticks for over a year, now. Things weren’t going so well this time last year either. That’s the (never ending) cycle that kicked off my PCOS diagnosis, as I recall. It’s hard to accept that one way or another–however this all turns out–our lives will never be the same again. For all of the taking that TTC does–time, energy, money, enthusiasm, hope–the only thing it’s given me so far (other than a broken heart) is a smaller waistline. Am I supposed to be grateful?