Monday Sucked

The day started out fine, if not a little early. I was up at 5:15am, jumped in the shower and got dressed, fed my neighbors cats (a more-complex-then-usual task since her cats eat different things and I have to lock one in the bathroom to eat and then wait), and was on the road by 6:15 for Syracuse.

My follicle check went well. I had my favorite NP and I have at least three follicles on the left, and five on the right. Whoo-hoo. Keep growing, little follicles. I went to Skaneateles, a beautiful little resort village on one of the Finger Lakes to spend the day at my friend Jenn's house, since I would be going back to the FG's office later in the day.

We played with the kids in the backyard, fed them lunch, and then left them with her husband while we walked around the village and got lunch. Then back to her house to sit by the pool.

About 5pm, I headed back to Syracuse for my first support group meeting. I wasn't sure what to expect, and there were lots of people there that it was their first time, too. Overall, there were about 25 people there (including three husbands). Everyone went around the room and told their story.

I would have expected that to be cathartic. And I'm not sure why the meeting, overall, wasn't. All the sad stories, all the failures should have made me feel like I'm not in it alone, but I think they gave me a hopeless feeling.

trying for three years....trying for five years...miscarriage with twins at 10 weeks...premenopausal at 35...miscarriage at 7 weeks....ready to give up...

Maybe I'm just tired. Like two years worth of tired. I'm tired of talking and rehashing what more we can all do.

Acupuncture. Yoga. Massage. Stress relievers. Meditation. Support groups. Support forums. Therapy. I'm doing all of that. And then we hear -- in the support group and in yoga -- Don't watch TV or read the news -- nothing but negative energy. Read positive books.

And then there's the information that contradicts each other. Don't eat ice cream -- you need to keep your uterus warm. Eat full fat dairy -- it's good for conception.

I've said it before, but I feel like I want to scream it from a mountain top -- it shouldn't be this hard. If it's this hard to reproduce, how did man get this far?

FG said something at the meeting that I took to heart, and I'm sure he meant it in a positive way, because he is nothing if not positive, but he said "none of us is promised anything in life."

And he's right. But is it too much to expect that if I don't get the husband, I can have the baby?

I drove home with a pounding headache, knowing I had to stop at Kohl's to buy a new hair straightener (I noticed in the morning that mine was most likely a fire hazard with frayed cord showing), still feed the neighbor's cats and do my shots and medicine.

If Casey pooped on the floor, I think I might lose it. (My 13-year-old cat has irritable bowel syndrome and sometimes doesn't make it to the litter box or starts there, it hurts and she jumps out. Fortunately, her messes are contained to one room 99% of the time, and she's only ruined the rug in her room.)

I went to Kohl's, the headache is now an 8 on a scale of 1 to 10. Go home, take my shot out of the fridge to warm up, go over to Lynne's to feed the cats. Get the mail while the one cat is eating locked up, go back in and let her out. Go home, do my shot, take my meds. Grab something little to eat, check my email and calendar for today. At this point, it's 9pm and my headache is closing in on a 9. Someone is pressing their thumbs into both of my eyes and has a vice around my head.

I go upstairs and see a pile of poo on the floor, a smaller dropping about three feet away, and a little in my room. I start sobbing, not doing any wonders for my headache. Bending over to clean up the floor makes my head explode. I cry harder. I look at the rug shampooer that I leave in Casey's room for nights like this, and lose it. I sit on a stool and sob into my knees.

I clean up the best I can, pour Nature's Miracle on all the spots and cover them with hand towels so I know where they are. Contacts out, Yankees t-shirt on, 800 mg of Ibuprofin, and the lights off. I hold my head, trying to relieve the pressure and fall asleep.

I want a boy to make the decision of what to do with Casey. I want a boy to rub my head and tell me it's okay. To tell me that we're in this together and one way or another, there will be a crib in that other room (once we tear up the poopy carpet). That's all I want as I try not to cry, lest my head actually explode.

It's what I want. And then I remember the FG's words....none of us is promised anything.