It took my mom two rounds of ART to get pregnant with me, and I'm on my seventh. There are drugs that make me vomit and ones that make my head pound. I have hot flashes that leave me sweating in a tank top & shorts when it's 11 degrees outside and I've stepped out onto the porch.
I ride the rollercoaster of grief and hope. I cry all the time. Gavin has stopped asking why when he sees tears running down my face. Sometimes he cries too. The method of coping that works one day is no match for the wound the next. There is so much guesswork and "try it and see if it works." And it never works.
I feel like a science project. I feel like I am being punished and that this is somehow all my fault. I feel like a failure. I feel alone. I'm hurt by the fact that the friends & family I considered to be my support network never acknowledge what is an on-going crisis for me. I'm afraid of becoming a bitter and negative person. I'm tired and I'm drained and there is no end in sight. They say every couple has to decide for themselves when is "enough is enough" and we have miles to go yet. I still hope, if only because I am not yet ready to face the alternative.
Nobody knows what to say to me anymore.