Disclaimer 1: I wrote this on 5/16/2016, the night before my beta blood test. I’m posting it the afternoon of 5/17, because…shit happens, it is what it is, and someone else is going through the exact same thing at this moment.
Disclaimer 2: This post is raw, laced with curses, emotionally draining, and graphic.
Read on with your tissues close by.
The entire weekend, I felt like shit. You know what I’m talking about, that all encompassing crappy feeling, where everything seems to be off. I chalked it up to the test that was looming in the not so far off distance. And I slept, God did I sleep, just not at night when I’m supposed to.
Saturday came and went with epic nausea and fatigue. Sunday, I went and got breakfast, came home put my pajamas back on, and stayed in them all day. I hardly slept Friday night, and Saturday night I can’t even say that I logged more than 4 hours. It was almost a relief when Sunday night rolled around, and I was utterly zonked. I attribute that to the lack of sleep from the prior two days, and the shitty feeling.
Monday rolls around. Noticed that I am feeling almost completely un-puffy, YAY! Get to work, get settled in, and the first few hours are unlike any other. Between the hours of 9am-12:15 I had a large coffee and two bottles of water, by that point in time my bladder is going to explode. Literally run to the ladies room. I’m bleeding. A lot. I don’t freak out. I don’t cry. I go into a muted ballistic rage. After telling myself “get your shit together,” I take an additional minute, not realizing that the scalding water while washing my hands was making me forget the previous few minutes. Get back to my desk, text DH, and feel my eyes start to well up. Escape to eat lunch with a friend, while voraciously texting my DH, my mom, and my MIL; ohhhh yes, and my doctor.
Why my doctor? Well let’s see, I’m supposed to go for a blood test tomorrow, but I clearly have my period. I know, I know, I know. It could be implantation bleeding. Or, I could be one of those women who still gets her period during the first month or two of the pregnancy.
I know all of these things could be true.
I know that this is not what’s happening.
…I JUST KNOW…
Also, my period is like clockwork. Per my app (yeah, there’s an app for that,) I’m not supposed to get my period until Friday. This app, by the way, is always correct; I stand corrected, if anything the app occasionally might be a day ahead of when I actually get it. So….mom, please look away…what the actual fuck is going on?
The rest of the day it was almost as though I was having an out of body experience. Maybe it was more that I was truly dazed and confused. I compulsively start searching “13dpIUI and bleeding” and read everything that comes up. Screw work at this point. I’m angry. No crying, and there are no tears. I am just mad.
Then, the shuffle on my iPhone plays “Rise Up” by Andra Day. Tears start welling up and I find myself struggling to control my breathing. But I haven’t yet broken; no tears have actually fallen. Lady Gaga’s “Til It Happens To You,” comes on. Cue the silent tears which start to trickle down my face. (iPhone shuffle clearly was trying to ruin me.) Briskly wipe them away, walk to the ladies room, blow my nose, cry into the tissue, and again tell myself more firmly, “get your shit together.”
By some miracle, the afternoon flies. My doctor still wants me to go for the blood test. If I was as ostentatious as I always think I am, I’d have replied back with “why bother?” but instead said “ok.” I get home, drop my stuff on the table, and immediately there is my DH wrapping me up in a hug, holding me so tightly that he knows if he lets go, I’m going to fall apart. Nothing is said. We know how we each feel, it’s all over our faces, and what is there to say? It didn’t work. We didn’t get our hopes up, we knew the chances, and the statistics. But at this single point in time I realize, we did all of these extra and additional things to boost our chances, and we still failed. There was then a tear, a single tear that was shed.
So almost 3.5 hours later, I’m sitting here sobbing. It has hit me. It’s kind of like this. You are handcuffed, tied, and chained to a temporary wall that is stationed dead center on train tracks. (I clearly have some underlying obsession with trains.) You know that train is coming. You know there’s not a damn thing you can do about the fact that it is going to come hurling down those tracks and pulverize every single inch of your body. That is what it feels like. A little over dramatic, probably, but I’m entitled to feel however the hell I want. It’s amazing that you are prepared for the worst, and then what you thought was the worst, gets worse. How does that happen?
Right now, I feel eviscerated.