I’m back, beginning to rise from the cocoon of disappointment that has insulated me since Friday. I can’t think of anything except how guilty I feel for hurting my embryos. I feel like I killed them. Weird, morbid, dramatic, I know. I imagine my current mood is a combination of rising estrogen, progesterone withdrawal, exhaustion and plain old self-pity. Not an attractive combination, I assure you. Reality is, the embryo’s chromosomes could have been abnormal thus resulting in their demise. Unfortunately, another likely explanation is, my body attacked the embryos because my immune system is in overdrive as evidenced by endometriosis and various other symptoms. At the end of the day though, when I’m lying in bed at night, I can’t help thinking that I did it, I expelled the poor things instead of welcoming them. Can’t get the thought out of my head.

I’m losing faith, feeling like I should stop the madness. I’m beginning to succumb to the finality of infertility. I actually considered what life would be like living childfree. In the world of infertility there are categories of resolution. We have (a) success, (b) success by other means (donor egg/sperm, surrogacy, adoption) and (c) childfree. I’d love success, am considering success by other means and until now simply banished the thought of living childfree. I never thought I’d feel living childfree would be less painful than infertility, until today. Today, on the way to work, I thought- I could live childfree. We’d travel, have a nice house maybe even a summer beach place. I surprised myself. I was happy picturing life without children. It felt luxurious. I’ve heard some people say that it’s time to stop pursuing infertility treatment when the pain becomes worse than the need/want for a child. We’re getting close to that line folks. Hopefully the break I take this summer will lure me back to the warm fuzzies of family planning. Right now, all I can think of is- I better not get pregnant. God will soon lose patience with a woman who coaxes embryos into this world only to reject them before they get a foothold.

Possibly as a penance, my period this month is horrible. I’m passing clots so large you’d think my ovaries just gave up and fell out. The good news is, I’m finally able to take Excedrin Migraine again. Oh, how I’ve missed my lovely white pills that take away the pain. I’ve also been indulging in caffeine every day. Yes, I said every day. If I’m going to be miserable, I’d rather have the energy to be a proper miserable person- honking at inconsiderate drivers, glaring at people who cut in line at the store, a gal needs energy for that. That’s right ladies, you don’t want to meet me in a dark alley these days. I’m a long way from cuddly.

A bad B-movie title? Nope, just the story of my life.
Pregnancy Test: Negative.

I’m am so sick of my freakishly flawed body, I can barely stand to be in the same room as myself. Do you remember that feeling back in high school when some boy or gaggle of girls hurt your feelings so bad you felt sick? Don’t we all have a memory or two like that? A situation that was so awful you know you’ll never forget how it felt to live through it? I think this is one of those days. The only word to describe how I feel is gutted. As if someone carved out my organs and left a brick in their place. Gosh, what would I feel like if I hadn’t been prepared for the negative? I shudder to think of it.

My last cycle left me sad. This cycle has left me angry. I can’t believe I gave up chocolate and sushi for this.

Will post more later when I’m able to form a thought without an expletive.

After transfer some doctors tell you to stay in bed for a few days. I’ve even heard one doctor recommended no bending at the waist. Other doctors say it is okay to move around because it is helpful to get the blood flowing to the embryos and uterus. Patients that move around are supposed to take it easy. My doctor is in the second camp, thus my conundrum is, what does it mean to “take it easy?”

In my book, The Lazy Women’s Guide to Life, taking it easy means, DH cooks for me, does the housework and tells me I’m pretty so I don’t have to waste valuable energy putting on makeup or doing my hair. Is that going too far? Does that level of laziness mean I am not getting enough blood to my uterus? Maybe I should fix my hair and put on a bit o’ blush. Actually, my doctor may not like that because I’d have an artificial glow which would mask a pale face thus not allowing us to see how my blood flow truly is. Dangerous, right? I agree, no makeup. He must just tell me I’m pretty while he is cooking and doing the housework. Now, if only I could get DH to agree.

On the day of transfer, I pretty much glued myself to LifetimeTV. For blood flow, I played with the dogs, walked to the bathroom and read a trashy novel. The day after transfer, yesterday, I did a couple loads of laundry, bathroom, made lunch, trashy novel. Today, my plan is to do a load of laundry, bathroom, trashy novel and TARGET. Yep, I am venturing out. Is that a good idea? I am suffering from an extreme case of cabin fever and feel the need for retail therapy (i.e. shop the Target clearance shelves.) Tomorrow is my last day off work this week. I plan on doing the ultimate in retail therapy, shoe shopping at DSW Shoe Warehouse. Nothing gets my blood moving like a roomful of discounted shoes. And since its strappy sandal season, I’m over the moon.

Which brings me to my question, am I lazy or just an obedient mother-in-waiting? Am I taking it too easy? My southern born and bred husband calls lazy people “sorry” as in, pathetic. An example of it’s use in my home:

Me- Why havenՉ۪t you taken out the trash yet?

DH (with southern drawl) BaCawse I’m bein’ sorry

Me- Are you going to take the trash out soon?

DH (slowly drawls)
Ah thenk I’m gonna be sorry all day,
but you kin check agin tomorra

Loads of people and things are referred to as sorry in our home. He hasn’t used that term in reference to me, not yet at least. In fact, a few times he has told me to go sit down and “take it easy.”” Clearly, the definition of taking it easy is subjective. So, off to Target I go and if I drop something, I promise I won’t pick it up, just in case bending at the waist really is bad for me.