Through no desire of my own, Patrick and I ended up taking a “month off” from our seemingly never-ending quest to de-barren my uterus when we went on our vacation. At the time, I thought it would be no big deal. Of course I had to deal with the barrage of “Oh THAT’S when you’ll get pregnant, as soon as you stop trying” and “All you need is a break and to relax… that’s when it will happen” and I wanted to stab everyone who said such things to me IN THE THROAT WITH A RUSTY BUTTER KNIFE.

But I digress… (do I?)

We took the break. And it KILLED ME. I had this ambiguous cloud of ick and yuck and sad floating all around me. And I was never so thrilled to go back to the doctor as the day I walked in there, barely alive because of the flu that while no longer contagious, still made me not feel like doing anything other than rolling over in bed.

I attacked this cycle with renewed determination and motivation. I dutifully mixed up vials of liquids and powders every night so that Patrick could give me a shot in my ass. I checked the days off on the calendar. I felt like four day old ass and, aside from a few hours this past Saturday, kept that whining and complaining to a minimum. I dropped $200 in co-pays alone in the past week for ultrasounds.

And what started out as a promising cycle has kind of… flatlined. Nothing is being called a bust or non-responsive yet. I still have a turkey baster session scheduled for later this week. (On Thanksgiving, appropriately enough). As if I needed something else to worry about on the day I was having 20 people at my house for dinner…

But I feel the hopefulness slipping away. I can’t put my finger on it because like I said, my RE has been nothing but positive about this cycle so far. “Sure.” She says. “You’re responding a little slow but I don’t think that’s cause for concern.” But I can’t help but wonder if, when I leave, they all give each other the sad look that says “Who does she think she is kidding? Why is she putting herself through this?”

There are two things that have carried me through this on-again, off-again struggle to become a mother. The first is my sense of humor. And there are no secrets. I’ve read the very little I’ve had to say here over the past few months. I know it. NOBODY is laughing anymore. But the second is my optimism. And I’m so scared that if I lose that too, I’ll just become one of those ghosts of a person. I’ll float around, only halfway here with that sad look on my face that never quite seems to leave.

On the bright side… I’m not drinking right now because of the fertility drugs. So those 20 people at my house on Thanksgiving? I’ll be STONE COLD SOBER.

Oh look… that did it… that pushed me over the edge. Send cake.