Ain’t no sunshine when he’s gone

Sigh.

Well I was kind of thinking about posting a few descriptions from my Hong Kong Holiday, maybe just ripping something straight out of my diary, but I haven’t the heart for it now. I got my period Saturday last, after ovulating on day 13 with a nice temp spike which looked promising. So I thought, as I do from time to time, perhaps I am pregnant? Especially when my lp went to 11 days, my temps were up in the pregnancy range at 37.1, and I knew I had sex the day after ‘o’, so it was possible. Reckless holiday sex, the kind to bring miracles, right? I think I have been feeling a little cavalier since three of my RPL buddies got pregnant recently and are into their second trimesters. Why can’t it happen to ME, I thought.

However. Period came, and I was a bit “oh well, that sucks” and got on with things. My temp had dropped, but not actually below coverline, which was unusual. Then day three of period arrived, (Monday) and my temp went back up to 37.1, and I began to feel slightly suspicious, so I dragged out an expired hpt and peed. A very faint second line. Dismissed it again, because, well, the test was old, the line was faint, and I was on my period anyway, right? I snuck into DH’s office (he’s in Perth recording tunes with his mate all week) and nicked a handful of new tests and shoved them in my bag, just in case.

Tuesday I peed again. Second line, less faint, but still faint. Phoned up the surgery and asked them to squeeze me in to see my Dr. Saw him at 10.30 that morning, and he thought (as I do) that it is a non-viable pregnancy, but we ought to be doing bloods to monitor for ectopic. I went had had the draw at 11am, and will get another tomorrow morning, and on Friday I will probably have the results. Not that they will tell me all that much. Experience suggests it will be at least a couple of weeks and probably a few (some fruitless) ultrasounds later that we find out what is going on. Today the second line is much darker. This to me suggests that whatever is there is still growing. Since I have already flushed out my uterus, it is likely that whatever is growing, is growing in a tube.

Hence my sigh at this post’s conception. And at my ninth embryo’s conception also.

Those of you following along for some time, and bothering to count my pregnancies will respond thus: “I only make eight, what are you talking about, nine?” To you I say, I have not fully disclosed to you the happenings of my year. In February, and quite by accident because I ovulated four days earlier than expected, right around the time of my cousin’s wedding, I felt extremely pregnant. I had intense nausea from the day of ovulation onwards. It was quite disabling. And a host of other symptoms, which in a cluster like that usually signify conception has taken place. But my period came, and no second line appeared. So I think it didn’t implant, but I am sure I did conceive. We called ‘him’ Octavius. I didn’t bother to mention it to anyone because what was there to say, besides “hey guys, I felt pregnant there for a couple of weeks, but turns out I’m not”. Yeah. Exciting news.

But all these little deaths, these non-lives, accumulating, they take their toll on my heart. And I feel if I don’t count them, then I discount them, if you know what I mean. Like they never existed even for a second. And they do exist to me. Even the ones I can’t ‘prove’ existed.

So. Number Nine. I never liked that Beatles song, it was irritating. It just went on and on, grating on my nerves. A bit like how I am feeling now. I am feeling cranky, a bit anxious, flat, sorry for myself.

I am feeling isolated, and alone, because I’m not sharing this with anyone besides my doctor. I haven’t even told DH, because I figure it’s the kind of thing that will just keep rolling around his brain distracting him from the studio fun and creativity he is having on his well earned holiday. It is only until Saturday, and then I will see him and we can talk about it and be miserable together. Just three more sleeps. It’s hard holding this in, keeping it to myself. I miss him and I want him just to be here and comfort me. But another part of me knows that there is nothing to be gained by telling him now. A momentary satisfaction, and then he has it, like a virus, or a crap song that gets stuck in your head. And both of us have to be miserable, separately. I’d rather wait until we can be together. It would also be harder for me to have him know, and not be by my side.

It’s unfortunate timing that my immediate family are all booked in to come visit this weekend. Friday to Sunday. I don’t want to tell them, but I don’t want to have to pretend to be chipper so they don’t ask what is wrong. Sigh. I just don’t have the energy right now. All I want to do is curl up in a ball and sob my heart out.

I can’t cope with having to talk about it, yet I want to talk about it. So conflicted. Thank God my therapy session is today. I’m trying to look away from my feelings, and distract myself. But I know I should be trying to get in touch with how I feel and connecting with that, so I can more easily move through it. I went to yoga this morning, which helped crack the surface a little, but I am still not there. I am numb. I think I don’t want to tell anyone because they all want to be hopeful, and tell me stories of how they had the same thing happen to them and it turned out fine! If you comment on this post, please please please keep that kind of (hopeful, encouraging) thought to yourself. I do not have hope of any sort (unless it is to pray this is not ectopic, and that it ends with the minimum of fuss- i.e.: no d&c) and I don’t want to feel as though I have to pretend I do, or even accept other people’s hope. It doesn’t lift me up, it throws me down, harder. And right now, I just do.not.have.the.strength. to pick myself up.

Roll on 4pm. Until then, I am off to prepare my pots for tulip planting. It isn’t very clement outside, but I stand a better chance losing my thoughts in gardening, than I do wallowing about in here.

And because this never gets old, I am going to say it again.

I hate this shit.