The grief never really goes away. Of 3 years and 3 months of trying to add a child into our marriage. Of believing that I could manipulate my body into doing my bidding. Of disappointment, of tears. Of the knowledge that it would never "just happen."
I've been dwelling on milestones a lot today. Had our IVF worked, I'd be 18 weeks along. We'd be finding out the gender of our child (or rather, I'd be arguing with Dr Boy over choosing to find out the gender of our child). I'm trying to garner excitement and support for those who I cycled with in December that are enjoying this milestone, but I have this nagging inside me that it's a fake smile and forced words coming out.
Had our last FET not resulted in a chemical, I'd be sure that our baby had a heartbeat. We'd have seen it, heard it. We'd possibly be graduating from the RE. We'd have less than a 5 percent chance of miscarriage.
I'm happy for all the ladies who I've cycled with and are out of the race. I really am. I'm just struggling with the "sad for me" part today*. I really am. The sadz are setting in hard core.
Dr Boy and I go to our first u/s and bloodwork appointment tomorrow for FET #2. Number two. Transfer number three. Our third set of embies. We'll be half way through our frozen stash, deeper in if some don't survive thaw. We're down to lower quality embies.
It's all a numbers game. And we, like so many of you, are NOT on the side of the numbers. Maybe just once, maybe this time, we will.
*it doesn't help that I hosted an infertility meetup brunch today, and I was stood up by the ladies who RSVP-ed yes.