Worth Every Shot

The shots are the easy part. It’s not just shots anyway. It’s multiple transvaginal ultrasounds. Welts from the shots that get bigger and more numerous with each passing day. The hormone fueled roller coaster  that has you feeling elated, ragey and depressed somehow simultaneously. Don’t forget the mindfuck of the hope that maybe this will work.  

It’s crumbling a bit more every time someone makes a joke about pregnancy happening as an oopsie. Going numb to type “congratulations” on yet another social media pregnancy announcement.

It’s feeling beholden to 6 tiny frozen bundles of cells- being dead set against getting pregnant without them, and at the same time being jealous of the folks who do.

IVF is a mother fucker. The physical toll alone, much less the daily emotional battles and the overarching war of “when will  I be successful in creating the family I’ve always dreamt of?”

Sometimes I worry I won’t be strong enough to see it through. To keep trying.

I feel guilty for wanting another kid, as of course my daughter is a miracle and a dream come true. I’m still allowed to want more kids though. I’m still allowed to hate that my journey to becoming a mom of two has taken an incalculable toll on my entire life.

On the one hand of course I wouldn’t change it, because it brought me Brooke. It’s allowed me to (I hope) shed some light on this all too common problem that NO ONE TALKS ABOUT because it’s filed under the taboo category of  “female thangs” that our patriarchal society just doesn’t give a fuck about. 

(Meanwhile- a third of infertility cases are due to male factor infertility) 

The first time around I was really open- I shared the entire journey from the first shots to the negative test. The second time too- the shots, the positive test and the pregnancy that brought me Brooke. This time I don’t have it in me. Though somehow more people know than I had planned on, which feels complicated. I feel like I’m going to forget who knows and who doesn’t and be like “SURPRISE!” and they’re like  um. Yeah. We knew.

Keeping the secret this time (trying to anyway) is an attempt for a dose of normalcy. To be able to come out with a cute picture of Brooke announcing that she’s going to be a big sister would be a tiny taste of what fertile folk get to do all the damn time. 

Article titles and etsy products geared towards surprising your partner or your parents. I don’t get to do that. They know. They’re all waiting just like me.  I can’t pretend to know what’s going on inside all of them, but I can say….it’s worse in here. 

The second we get a hint of bad news I blame myself. I second guess the massage I got, the acupuncture, the freakin nap I took  for fucks sake, when really I have no control over whether or not this works. All I can do is take my meds.

Which are a mind fuck because that’s what makes you feel pregnant- the first transfer (which failed) I was convinced I was pregnant. I had all the symptoms! Sore boobs, nauseous, starving, bloated, exhausted, emotional. I was not pregnant. The meds made me believe I was.

The second I have a tiny glimmer of hope, I think-careful, don’t get too confident, cause remember how it felt when you got flattened last time. 

But be positive!!! Keep hope alive! What you focus on expands!

Stay busy I guess. Try not to take too many home pregnancy tests that may be giving you a false sense of failure. 

The final word- the blood test- will come in a few days, regardless of how I feel about it and how I pass the time. Dear god I hope this worked. 

(It didn’t)

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