Nope

Just late, for no reason.

Fun.

This is so much fun.

I'm really, really glad I'm having this experience. It's definitely not bad for my mental health.

Nope.

Nope.

Nope.

Two Days Late

Huh.

A Day Late

But not a dollar short.

I'm sure it will come tomorrow.

Right?

Of course it will.

Because DHEA and CoQ10 and whatever that powder shit is and vitamin D is all a scam, and I am kidding myself that "egg quality" is even a thing, and certainly that it is a thing that is even remotely in the control of a 41 year old woman who has spent the summer living her live and sailing and drinking rum and not even really doing much at her job, just like fucking around and relaxing and sleeping and being more active to try to lose some of that IVF midriff squish she's got going on.

I bet it comes tomorrow.

And yet more sadness

Only now, with rose wine.

Also, I've been sailing constantly.

And I've ordered some nonsense supplements online. Because I'm a chump.

That's all.

Sadness Continues

It waxes and wanes. These days it's waxing. I don't know why. Hormones? Time? I don't know.

My sister in law was here for an entire week, which is about a week and a half too long. The first night she was here, I was exhausted after a stressful day of houseguest tending, and I was loading the dishwasher for the second of what felt like two dozen times over the course of the week, and she was going on and on about the baby shower for the third in their assortment of four siblings, a well-meaning doofus with no college education or professional aspirations that I know of. They're having a baby in a matter of months.

I was invited to the shower. The invitation arrived either on or around the day I found out one of - which one? Who knows? - my IVF cycles failed.

I threw it away. I told my husband he had to deal with it. He said okay, and promptly forgot.

Of course, if any of them knew even the slightest thing about me, they might understand. But they don't know me.

So sister in law was talking about all the cool stuff that she sent to them for presents, because presents is how sister in law shows love for people, and shopping is how she makes herself feel better about her own spin-heavy life, and I was loading the dishwasher, and I was exhausted, and I felt the sadness rising up, and I said "SIL, I can't talk about this right now," and drew my finger in a line across my throat in the no-I-really-mean-it gesture, and she backtracked and said she was sorry, but it was too late.

I started weeping over the dishwasher.

I cried so hard I had to go to bed. I didn't even say goodnight to anyone. I just got in bed and sobbed.

Everyone finally left on Saturday, after a full week here, a full week of dishwashers, and I am still coming down from it. Like I'm in an emotional hangover.

Yesterday I went out for a sail with a friend and his new girlfriend, not new I guess, it's been over a year, but God damn is she boring. She's one of those people with nothing to say except prattle about her kids. Normally I don't care, beyond being bored out of my fucking mind. Yesterday on the launch I found myself swallowing salt water and weighing whether or not to tell her hey, so, I cannot fucking listen to this shit right now, I just can't, and while you're complaining about your sullen teenage daughter at home, you need to understand that I will never have a sullen teenage daughter to complain about. Never.

So shut up.

I am telling myself that I won't always feel this way.

I hope I'm not a liar.

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.

Spherical

Three weeks after my failed cycle, and my bloating has not gone down. None of my dresses fit. I pulled on a pair of Spanx under one of the ones that sort of did, and by the time the evening was over the top had rolled down. My belly will not be contained.

It's awful, and I don't know what to do about it. I make and glug iced tea. I drink water. I drink coffee. I avoid salt. I seek out salt. I go to exercise classes. I go to ab day. Nothing is helping. I look like I swallowed half a volleyball. Or like I'm four months pregnant. Which is its own horridness.

Meanwhile, I call Dr. Big Guns' nursing line to ask for a refill of the meds used to control my brain tumor, and to find out if this bloat is normal or what the deal is. No one ever picks up this phone line. I mean, not once in nearly two years of treatment has this phone line ever been answered live. They always listen and call back. This time, hours pass, they call back, I miss the call, and they leave a message saying they need to test my blood first before doing the refill, and they need to know when I'm doing my next cycle, and am I really going out of town for the whole summer, and blah blah blabh fucking blah they haven't called in my prescription. No comment about bloat.

I call them back.

I inform them that last summer I went off the meds, and that's why my prolactin levels were elevated when I did my first IVF stim cycle this year, the one to which I didn't respond, and even though Dr. Big Guns feels those are unrelated, that subsequent cycles with my prolactin controlled did respond, and I'd like to have my prolactin controlled when we start what is likely to be my final attempt at IVF. Also, WTF with this bloat?

They call me back. Okay, fine, they say, they've checked with Dr. Big Guns (standard practice at this clinic - discount what the patient reports about her own body unless confirmed by someone else, preferably someone male), and they'll refill my prescription. Thanks, I say, what about this bloat though?

Have I had weight gain, they ask.

Yes, I say.

Have I had shortness of breath? they ask.

Not especially, I say.

Then it's not related, they tell me. The sound of hand washing coming through clearly on the line.

It's been this way consistently since my failed cycle, and you're telling me it's not related?

Go see your GP, they shrug. They did the same thing when I had ongoing pain from the hysterosalpinogram. I forced them to check me out anyway. Nope, shrug, nothing, we don't know.

I recognize that I am probably among my nursing team's least favorite people to speak to on the phone. Whereas in real life I am funny, and snarky, and empathetic, and love my dog, and able to make soup for my friends, on the phone with my clinic I am curt and dismissive. Or too honest. How are you? they'll ask on the phone, pro forma. This is my waking nightmare, I might answer. Nice to see you, one of the attendings said as he came in this last cycle to probe my vagina. Oh sure, I said, unable to stop myself, it's a dream come true, being here again.