On the day that I wrote this post, I was absolutely broken and defeated. If I were in rehab, this would have been described as my bottom. My bottom involved drugs, needles, wine and tears. I was ready to live a different kind of life, one that didn’t keep beating me down every time I stood up. I remember driving to the doctor’s office in the morning not knowing what the day would bring. I was steadily praying that the next time I’d make the drive would be for my repeat beta to confirm a healthy pregnancy, NOT to do a baseline blood draw for my next cycle. I was feeling in my heart that if this wasn’t it, that I just didn’t think I could do it any longer.
When I got the call from my doctor he started out with his usual, “Is this a good time to talk?” Of course, I had been staring at my phone all morning making good and sure that I didn’t somehow miss a call. It just so happened that I was at the beauty school getting my hair done to pass the time. If I was getting good news or bad, my trashy roots didn’t fit into either scenario. I sure as hell wasn’t going to make him call back. I needed to hear whatever it was that he needed to say. The two week wait was coming to a close and I desperately wanted to be put out of my misery. As I sat at the shampoo bowl, he stated, “I’m sorry. You’re not pregant.” I am sure that he said something positive and hopeful to console me right after that but I don’t really remember what it was. I had to focus with all of my might to not cry. I hung up to phone with a towel on my head, forcing myself to be void of emotion. I am sure that the girls were wondering what was wrong, as I was no longer gabbing and joking. I became a robot. I obeyed when it was time to return to the mirror, declined when asked if I wanted a trim, paid and left without a smile or a tear but sporting a thousand yard stare. I got into my car, drove out of the parking lot (God forbid anyone see me cry!) and pulled over onto the side of a small residential street. I then proceeded to lose it. I sobbed and heaved and snotted until exhaustion. I was done. I just couldn’t take any more pain and disappointment.
When I was able to regain my composure, I called Michael and cried the news to him. I yelled into the phone, “I am sick of this. I am just so SICK OF THIS! I HATE THIS!!! I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE! I JUST WANT A BABY TO LOVE! IS THAT SO HARD? CAN SOMEONE JUST HELP ME FIND A BABY TO LOVE? WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE SO [insert favorite explicative] COMPLICATED?” He tried to reassure me. He reminded me that we still had embryos in the freezer. He promised that he would do whatever it took for me to become a mom. But mostly, he was helpless. In that moment, the world was an unfair sonofabitch, and I didn’t want to hear anything to the contrary. I sent out a group text that said, “Negative.”
I went home and walked my dog. I cried some more. I put a positive spin on things for my blog, but in reality, I stayed pissed off. I hated everyone and everything and there was nothing that anyone could do about it. Then, after I was all cried out and trying to recover on the sofa, this text came in from my mom.
I am sure that I only saw the message at 7:24, as I was pissed off at my phone as well (always the bearer of horrible news). So, I called her. That’s when a huge door came flying open for me and I dove through it without really knowing what the final outcome would be, without thinking twice.