False hopes

Today is Cyber Monday.

It is also day 35.

After taking 200mg Clomid one last time, on the advice of our consultant, this is D-Day. No period by now meant one of two things: pregnant or the drugs didn’t work.

Sadly it’s the latter.

After a sleepless night worrying, I finally did the pregnancy test at 4.30am, and those innocent two words “Not pregnant” cut through me like a knife.

This time I’d fallen into the obvious trap of hope. And hope always makes things worse. I’d had strong pains and pangs around “ovulation time”, and a few early pregnancy “symptoms” like sore boobs, headaches, and a few I’ll spare you the details of. And I’d let hope creep in. Slowly at first, so I barely noticed. Until I’d somehow gotten to the point of planning how I’d tell people I was pregnant, and wasn’t it amazing that in the end we didn’t need IVF and think of all the money we’ll save?!

But those two little words at 4.30am, in our cold bathroom, put a blunt end to that pesky hope stuff.

It means we’ll start IVF again in the new year.

Now we are heading into my favourite time of year. I love the run up to Christmas and all the magic and excitement that brings. So in a day or two I’ll put all this huge, broken, achingness back in the box it’s been living in since July, and focus on festive things instead.

But today it’s raw. And real. And terrifying.

What if we are not ever going to have another child? What if I never get to feel that fluttering of my baby moving inside me again, or to breastfeed? What if all those little clothes I put away “for next time” are never actually needed again?

I’m not ready for that. And today I feel a step closer to it.

So I’ll hold Toby a little tighter, love John a little bit more for the incredibly supportive husband and father he is, and lean into the pain.

Tomorrow will feel better. 


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