Still Sad

That's not much of a report, but it's true.

Also, DHEA makes me a monster. I'm taking 1/3 the suggested dose, because anything higher than that and I'm concerned I might go to prison for assault. I tell myself that it probably doesn't work anyway, but if it does, surely something is better than nothing, as I cannot withstand the rest.

I'm not, like, crushingly sad. I'm trucking along. I'm working, I'm sleeping, I'm doing hobby-related things. There are moments when I am able to forget myself, and to immerse myself in my life and not think about No Baby.

But, you know, it sneaks up on me. A wrangle with the billing department at the hospital. At dinner, discussing gender politics, a friend confesses that she loves being a woman because when she was pregnant she felt superior, because of this special thing she could do. But then, I meet one of the children of a successful person I know, who is self-made and ambitious and canny, and his kids - all older than me - to a person seem sort of pathetic and beaten down and are clearly a disappointment. What if Succotash were a disappointment? That would be hard, wouldn't it? Harder than no Succotash? I don't know.

Right now I'm still thinking we'll take another stab at it in the fall. But then, sometimes I think, maybe I won't. Why bother? Why put myself through that again if I don't have to? I've been given a 15% chance of success. That's an 85% chance of failure. That's a solid B. I've accomplished things that were less likely to happen, it's true, but not very many of them. If I had cancer, and were given an 85% chance of death, I would probably be putting my affairs in order.

So that's what I'm considering doing.

Don't know. We'll see.