Monday, December 1, 2014

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.


  1. I am so disappointed for you, I really am. I know the words won't help at all but I had a friend go through a failed IVF (maybe 2, I can't remember) but, recently became pregnant and is nearly in the second trimester.

    I don't know if those words bring any comfort at all. But, I believe it will happen for you. I'm just sorry you have to suffer an expensive negative before you get the positive.

  2. I am so very sorry. Couldn't let me post yesterday as I was on my phone all day, but I was checking in. There are no words, but I am sending you so much love. Really hoped it would be a good outcome after all you've been through.

  3. Oh, hon. Your casino metaphor feels so apt though - I have called it the 'Russian roulette' in the past (which is a bit morbid, which is why I like your casino one better). It does feel like such a huge gamble and the stakes are so high, emotionally, financially and even spiritually (if one is that way inclined). I'm so sorry that you're in such darkness at the moment. My heart goes out to you. Sending you much love.xx

  4. I'm so sorry. You are right there are no words and no one truly understands. Please know that you are not alone and there are others out here fighting the same fight and struggling right along with you. I'll be thinking about you and am here if you want to talk.