Oh, sweet Succotash. Where are you?
So it didn't take this time. I knew it wouldn't, and I was actually okay yesterday when they told me. Now I get a month off of being poked and prodded and bloodlet, which, to be honest, is a relief. Now I wait for my period, and then track my ovulation, and then start estrogen priming for another try.
So many trite metaphors present themselves. A bite at the apple. A turn at bat. Whatever.
They're putting me back on the pills we used before. I'm curious if they will up the dosage of those pills, since we only got 3 or 4 follicles on that one. But that's better than the one we got with all the injectables. One, Succotash. What's wrong with us?
Maybe I've just run out.
Right now, my job is to manage my expectations. And, if we're honest, to begin moving to acceptance.
This process is not going to work.
The more I tell myself that now, the less shocking it will be when the doctor tells it to me however many months from now.
This process is not going to work.
And I'm going to be okay anyway.
