Last time, we caught up through the end of 2006. Today will complete the historical review and bring us up to the current.
“Part of destination is the word ‘destiny’ …”
Picture from allposters.com — Proserpina by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
The first time someone told me that I looked like the girl in this painting, I was 17. At the time, I was flattered — who doesn’t want to be compared to the model in a classical painting? Fast-forward 9 years, when I found this conversation, during which I learned that the pomegranate was the color/symbol of fertility and infertility. Now that innocent comment at 17 seems more sinister. Then about two months ago, while I was participating in an online swap with some other fantastic ladies suffering through infertility, I was told again that I look like the painting. That kind of creeped me out. To be associated with this painting (and the poem that Rossetti wrote in the upper right corner), and to be simultaneously suffering from infertility seems like more of a coincidence than I want to believe in.
I’m not sure I believe in destiny, but I do believe that some things happen no matter what you do to change the outcome. I wonder if infertility is something that I am just fated to deal with, something that would have happened no matter what choices I made. Part of me, deep down, believes that if I hadn’t gone on depo, I would be fine right now. That because of the choice that I made years ago, I have to suffer now. I know that’s not true — every month I ovulate, and every month there is a chance that I will end up pg. However, that chance seems more like the lottery these days; sure, it might happen, but the overwhelming odds say it won’t. It’s easier just to go ahead and understand that no matter how much I hope, the reality is that I’m not pregnant. Ever.
And really, it’s the false hope that hurts so much, that causes the world to come crashing down around my shoulders every 30 days. Knowing — and believing — that there is no hope is still painful, but it is a different kind of pain. It is a dull ache, a memory of a past injury, a phantom pain. It is not the cut resulting from the shards of shattered dreams. Binky’s post about the solstice resonated with me when I read it. So much of infertility is spent in the darkness, in the pain that we can’t escape, like the tragic Persephone. It’s hard to remember that one day, the darkness will lift and spring will come again. But one day, it will. I made an RE appointment for February 8.
… but dealing with IF is a god-damned mindfuck. My period was due 5 days ago. Yep, that would make me almost a week late if I was a normal person. However, we are still a good 5 days short of my longest cycle since I came off the pill. And of course, this would be the month that I a) was not temping b) did not have any post-ovulation cramps c) have no pregnancy symptoms and d) have no pregnancy tests in the house. So, a poll. Do I:
a) pony up $15 and take a test, fully expecting it to be negative, and get really depressed when it is indeed negative
b) wait it out until my period shows, letting my hopes build, and get really depressed when it comes
c) freak out because “What the hell, maybe I didn’t ovulate?!”*
d) go bury my head in the sand and drink my weight in amaretto soursNow the qualifiers:
1) [Manly] realized I’m late and has his hopes up
2) I’m trying to ignore the situation
3) If my period does show up, I’m going to be stuck wondering if this was a chemical pregnancy
4) If I test and my period does show up, that will be a wasted $15 and I will be pissed
5) Holy shit, there’s a slim minuscule outside chance that I might be pregnant at this very second
*This is not groundless. When I started on depo, my period had to be induced. That was the only time in my life that it had never showed, and I still don’t know why. 1-17-07
[Manly] and I don’t usually go in for deep, heartfelt, exploring-our-emotions conversations. So the discussion of my situation last night went something like this:Scene: me putting up groceries, [Manly] getting a soda out of the fridge on his way out the door.
Us: Blah, blah, work, blah, friend situation, blah, homework
Him: So are you cramping yet?
Me: I’m thinking about taking a test.
Him: You’re not that late. Wait ’til Friday.
Me: Actually, I’m five days late. I’m still not to the point of my longest cycle, but…
Him: Friday. Okay, I’m gone, I’ll be back in a few hours.
And that was it. Tonight, I will go and buy a test and I’ll hold on to it until Friday morning. I really don’t have any hope; I’m terrified to see a negative mainly because it means that my body has gone whacky this cycle, which is not good. I’m still sending in my paperwork to the RE today. [snip]
Negative. Now we can all stop worrying about [possible pregnancy]. I rationalized that hey, at this point I either am or am not pregnant, so waiting until Friday didn’t really mean all that much in the scheme of things. I followed up last night’s test by temping this morning, and my BBT was at a suspiciously low number; think pre-ovulation temperatures. My conclusion from this is that a) I never ovulated this cycle (which doesn’t bode well) or b) I never shed my uterine lining (which isn’t any better). All in all, it doesn’t matter all that much since I’m seeing the RE in a few weeks anyway. Theoretically I could go to the OBGYN to get a provera prescription to force a period, but it’s not all that important to me, and I’d rather wait to see the RE and let him figure it all out.