I've bagged the transfer story. The more I tried to write it, the more the sheer hope of those first couple of days depressed me. Maybe one day, if this all works, I'll be able to put it down on paper so to speak. As for now, I think I'll hang on to that for myself.
Tomorrow morning I take the blood test that will confirm whether or not I'm pregnant. The results aren't due back until 4 PM so I'll get to spend the whole day at work on pins and needles. Joy. As if I haven't been stressed out enough lately.
I've inadvertently been biting people's heads off left, right and center. I'm so stressed about this all that if someone says anything -- negative or positive -- I jump down their throats. Sometimes I feel bad, sometimes I don't. For the most part I've been trying to keep things bottled up but I've been exploding more than I'd like.
It's almost like I have the worst case of PMS in existence, something which the supplemental progesterone probably has a lot to to do with. All I know is that I'm crabby and the slightest things are pissing me off.
Mark has been pissing me off by saying that with his luck it will be zero or three. Fuck your luck. This isn't one of your stupid poker games. How about OUR luck? How about maybe just wishing for one, like I've been doing? Better yet, try noticing how quiet I get whenever you say that. Think it might bother me? The stop fucking saying it already, Mr. Fucking Sensitive.
And to continue on with the rant, the two co-workers that know about this have been pissing me off too. I'm tired of every sly wink when I say I'm so hungry I'm about to pass out or want a particular food. Fuck people, I GET hungry. I get dizzy and nauseous when I get hungry too. And in case you haven't noticed my life has been in upheaval so I haven't been able to do any food shopping. My diet is all thrown off and I've had to rely on the crap they serve in the cafeteria. I do crave -- yes, there's that word -- good food sometimes. After all, I've been eating shite for two weeks now. Of course I want something else, something fucking healthy. Don't start with the wink and nod and the "when you have twins..." How about leaving me alone for a little bit and not making every fucking thing about a baby?
Jesus.
And the thing is, I want to be pregnant in the worst way... I want this all to have worked... I want to be one of the lucky few.
I just want everybody who knows to shut up about it. They're not helping my mood. They're not making me feel hopeful.
Lord knows that we really can't afford to do this again on our own. I've already almost used up my entire infertility benefit through ELC, Inc.'s health insurance. So if this fails, we'll have to either give up or blow all our savings to go at it one more time. Which is pretty much what I'm prepared to do, but after that, we're done. We're not rich by any means and could only afford to do it one more time. No more. Hence the desperation and the hope.
To top it off, Sunday is our first wedding anniversary. And right now I'm not looking forward to it. At all. Cause I don't think I'm pregnant -- although I'm hoping and wishing and praying that I am. If all this build up turns out to be a big fat zero, I'm sure we'll be having a real somber, subdued celebration, if we celebrate at all.
