Paul told me a couple of weeks ago that someone had asked him how I was doing and he replied that I'd been having the best few days I had in a really long time.
Too bad that didn't last. I don't know what triggered what, but I've been crying every day now for what seems like forever. I feel like whatever progress I'd made in my grieving has been erased, and sometimes I'm right back in those early days home from the hospital, after the numbness wore off and I was left to feel my desolate feelings.
We tried to conceive during the last cycle. As expected, it didn't work. Or, rather, it sort of worked, but didn't, and I'm relieved. Our timing was impeccable, could not have been better. We did everything exactly right. My basal body temperature chart was amazing, freaky even. I wasn't going to pee on a stick (POAS) until 13 days post ovulation (dpo), which is the same point at which I got a big fat positive (BFP) on a home pregnancy test in May, the day before our previously scheduled blood pregnancy test. This time, my chart was so awesome I couldn't help myself. At 9dpo, negative...11dpo, barely, faintly positive, but I chalked it up to an evaporation line fluke. Then 12dpo, a little bit darker but still faint positive. I had to hold it up to the light (and peer without my glasses because I need bifocals), but even without being able to focus my eyeballs I could see the pink tint of the line without trying. This was not a gray evap line. I freaked out...not in a good way, more in a, "You traitorous bitch," sort of way. Two days later I got another negative test, and I was relieved. Paul wasn't disappointed we weren't pregnant, either. I told the girls on my private chat board about the test, calling it a fluke, and they reminded me that no, it was actually a chemical pregnancy. A positive is a positive. Chemical pregnancies are any miscarriages that happen prior to detection of a heartbeat, pregnancies almost always lost due to genetic issues with the sperm or egg. In our case, this one was a teeny blip, so brief as to only tweak my hormone levels a little bit. Getting the final negative test was a relief. We realized we weren't ready to be pregnant again quite yet. It's only (already?!) been two months since our loss and it's still too early. I was thrilled when my period started a day early rather than late.
I went in this morning for my scheduled baseline follicle scan as my doctor ordered, officially marking the start of our next injectible IUI cycle. But that was not to be. Instead of a nice antral (resting) follicle count, my doctor saw a large cyst in my right ovary, one that, if we proceeded with the injections and IUIs, would likely prevent ovulation. He cancelled the cycle, ordered me to go on birth control pills for 21 days and said he'll see me again in about 25 days. I start the pills tomorrow morning to reset my "clock" and hopefully make the cyst disappear.
The thing is, in about 25 days, Paul leaves for elk camp for 11 days. If the cyst is gone and Dr. M. gives the all clear, he'll either have to agree to let me give myself the intra-muscular Menopur shots twice daily in the thigh, or we'll have to sit out November, too, because Paul won't be there to give me the shots in the butt like he's supposed to. Sierra offered to give me the morning shots at the clinic, but then realized there's still evenings and weekends to be dealt with. She also said she's seen some patients give themselvesthe injections in the butt. I'm not really sure how that would work, but it could be an option. Maybe.
The storm of complicated emotions continues. I was already near tears just sitting on that table, in the same room next to the same ultrasound machine where we saw our twins and heard their precious heartbeats for the first time back in June. Lying back and seeing the cyst on the screen this month, I knew we were doomed, and my heart broke a little more. This was the last outcome we expected. As of this month, we've been trying to start our family for FOUR years. Now we are forced to wait at least a little longer, still not knowing whether we'll ever become pregnant again or not, or whether we'll bring a healthy baby/ies home. The question of whether or not we're emotionally ready is simply moot; my body says not this month.
As Paul said to me on the phone, calling me at work after getting my text and hearing me crying, "Thank God we have a support group meeting Thursday night, because we need it."