This was written in late March and reading it makes me tear up a little, again so glad I kept a journal of this… how easily the hopeful heart forgets the heartache.
IUI no. 3 was a bust. This one hit me hard. Really hard. Harder than the previous two. I had a hunch it hadn’t worked, then when it was confirmed I couldn’t stop the tears. I was brought to my knees. I was devastated.
This one was a tough one. Maybe it was having the IUI on my birthday, maybe it was turning 35 (the dreaded age of all infertiles), maybe it’s that I just plain wanted to finally be pregnant and have it stick. Likely it was all of it. Either way, I was brought to my knees and it took nearly six weeks to get back up again.
I hadn’t been hit this hard with the heartbreak regarding infertility before. Even with my losses last year. It was horrible. I had to take some afternoons off of work and some weekends alone. I had to hole up alone and away in my nest, licking my wounds, to get over this one. Some of my people had to drag me up and out of the house just to get me outside of my funk for an hour or two. Thank God I have these people.
Infertility can be so incredibly brutal.
It took a lot of tears, a lot of anger… a LOT of anger, tons of frustration, a lot of support from my family and friends, and one very important appointment with my RE to get me back up on my feet. But I finally got there. This one was tough, it knocked me down but it didn’t knock me out.
In the end c’est bon, c’est bon. Time to move on to the next step.