Looking back on my recent posts, I see that it's been almost a month since I wrote a post about my uterus. You knew that was too good to last, right?
I forget if I mentioned it at the time, but I had my initial IVF appointment at the end of November. They laid out the steps I needed to take before actually starting a cycle, hinted at some great new shared risk/payment options coming to the clinic in the new year, and told me that I could potentially start the drugs for my IVF cycle as soon as the first week of January.
In reality, we've decided to wait just a little longer than that. Our health insurance is changing as of January first, and between that, the new shared risk program and the fact that it's the holidays, we decided there was too much to do and to discuss before actually moving forward. So well wait one more month and make sure we're good and ready before getting started.
In the meantime, I'm back on the carousel of self-torture. Now, I'd been pretty good this month -- the knowledge that the Clomid cycle (our best non-ivf chance) had failed pretty much convinced me that we're not going to get pregnant naturally, so we haven't stressed about it this month. No ovulation predictors, nothing. And that was working fine for me until yesterday. (TMI ALERT!! TMI ALERT!! GET OUT WHILE YOU CAN!!!) Based on the 26-day cycle that I had finally (after five months) accepted as normal for me, my period was due yesterday. It didn't come. In fact, it's still not here.
Now, I am a very regular person, reproductively speaking. I've usually been able to say to the hour when I was expecting my period. And aside from when I was pregnant, I can count on one hand the number of times I've been late since I went off the pill almost four years ago -- usually, if I'm surprised by my period, it's because it's early. This month appears to be one of those rare late times, and it's making me a little nuts. First, even though I have the negative test to prove otherwise, there's a little part of me that's delusional enough to think I could be pregnant. Despite myself, I keep having these imaginary conversations in my head where I tell the Boy that we have a serious decision to make -- do we want to spend the IVF money on a trip to Disney World, or a trip to Vegas? And he's shocked and happy and I'm no longer a failure. Then I remember that empty space where the line should be, and I know that the conversation in my head's going to have to stay there.
Second, of all the months for my body to decide to lollygag, why this one? It was hard enough to make the decision to delay the IVF -- now my body wants to make the waiting period longer? I know it's probably just a matter of a day or two, but even that tiny delay seems like way too long.
Adding to all of this is a slight depression. Despite my resolve to be mindful of all of the wonderful things I do have in my life, I'm finding myself focusing more and more on the contrast between this year and the last. Last Christmastime was pretty much the happiest time of my whole life -- I had my M, and was happily pregnant with what I expected would be our second child. Though I always feared miscarriage, it had never, ever crossed my mind, even for an instant, that having a second child might be a challenge. I feel like that me, from a year ago, was a totally different person from the me I am today. And while I recognize that my life is still pretty darn good, I'm mourning the person I used to be. I miss her.