I haven’t talked about infertility stuff for awhile on here, and I kind of need to. But, I don’t want to, because I really don’t have anything positive to say at this point. I wish I wasn’t ending the week on this note, but it’s my reality right now, and it’s time to get real. Tonight, L and I have a date night scheduled. Thank goodness. We really, really need one.
Our fertility treatment plan is constantly influx. Every bit of new information, new test, and consultation feels like it is getting us further away from our goal of a baby. I am kinda over this whole journey, but in the same vein, we’ve only just begun. I haven’t even been given any fertility drugs yet. How can I be “over” something that hasn’t even started yet? It might have something to do with the fact that my health hasn’t given me a break since 2009, and I’m tired.
I’m really, REALLY tired.
I am tired of hearing how the odds are against us.
I’m tired of hearing what is wrong with us.
I’m tired of hearing that I need to relax.
I’m tired of wondering if I’m thinking about this too much. Then trying to forget about it. Then punishing myself for not forgetting it.
I’m tired of hoping that we will be that lucky couple that just bumbles along, and then magically it happens when we least expect it.
We won’t be that lucky couple. You know why? Because the fertility specialist told me so. He told me with his chart and his little ballpoint fucking pen and all his numbers.
I’m tired of waiting.
I’m not getting any younger.
The fertility specialist told me that, too.