It's Really Dark in Here

It's really dark in here.

I knew IVF was a coinflip, putting all my money on red.  But somehow sitting for a 2.2 (WTF) beta in front of a corkboard covered in pictures of smiling twins after a "perfect" cycle with two "perfect" day 5 blasties, it all feels like a trick.  Like they are dangling some scant hope just out of reach for what I want the most.  And I know that as long as I have the money, I'll play another hand.

I hate gambling, and yet here I am at this beautiful, expensive poker table where it smells nice and drinks are free.  But make no mistake, the house always wins.  Failed IVF.  I can't even say it out loud.  The casino isn't this nice because of the guy who busted the dealer and left.  It's the guy who played blackjack all night and blew all his money hoping for that next hand that would be the big win.  The clinic makes more money the more I keep showing up.  That's why I have to throw down fifty more bucks to make sure my 2.2 drops to zero.  That's why I have to double down on another hand next month.  The house always wins.  I read someone thought they had a 75% success rate at IVF, which is higher than any clinic in the world.  I guess we believe what we want to believe.  And boy did I buy what they were selling.  I am most upset at myself for letting myself believe this would work.

While I'm mixing gambling metaphors, this casino's comps suck.  The nurse didn't care.  Hell, I'd want to get off that call too.  Haven't even heard from the doctor.  I would have asked him for a few days of Valium so I can get through my client meetings without hysterically crying.  I'm not ready to talk to anyone, especially my mom, ugh.  I texted a few people.  I got a frowny face.  I got a "that sucks."  A couple didn't respond.  I got some sympathetic words, some words of wisdom, some digital hugs.  But I can't feel it.  I get it.  What is there to say?  It won't help.  And, again, I find myself wishing I had told fewer people.   That I was less exposed.  My friend with a failed cycle was helpful, but what are you supposed to say?  There's no way to be prepared for how this feels, even if I had tried.

The thing about grief is that you just have to plow through it.  No one can do it for you.  It's even more fucked up when that grief took all this time and money and effort.  I canceled my vacation.  I quit working out.  I changed my job.  I lost my sex life.  I have put my whole marriage at risk.  I have given up on my life for this.  It's really dark in here, and I have no idea where I am going.