“It’s okay. We always have our three beautiful frozen embryos. It’s okay,” Mr. Jem said when hearing the news, trying to make me feel better.
“No, it’s NOT okay.” I respond with passion. “It’s distinctly not okay. Today it has to be okay for it not to be okay. Right now it just sucks. Period.”
This is/was our first IVF cycle. I kept secretly hoping we’d be the lucky few that made it on the first try. It was bad enough going though two years of TTC before this. I had NO idea of the pain of a negative beta. I follow and comment on a lot of other blogs and have read other people’s anguish at a negative beta. I felt sympathy and compassion but nothing prepared me for how I would feel today. Nothing. I can’t believe I actually told myself, that I said to Mr. Jem, “I won’t be devastated if it’s negative.” Ha! Big, fucking ha!
All week I didn’t think I was pregnant. Of course, this doesn’t make the sorrow any less. Boy, do I wish it did. Instead, all I want to do is curl up in a little ball and cry. Drown my sorrow in a BFN diet. Let me tell you about it.
After hearing the news I went to McDonald’s and ordered a Quarter Pounder with cheese, fries and chocolate milkshake. Much to my chagrin I cried all the way to McDonalds. I placed my order, sunglasses on to hide my bloodshot eyes. Then I cried my way back to the office.
Back at my desk and wolfed the fast food down, barely tasted anything.
I then chugged half a coke in the kitchenette. “So there! I’m drinking caffeine! Ha! So there, fertility gods! I defy you! I drink caffeine! And I’m going to drink a butt-load of wine on Saturday night when I go out with my friend to a free dinner event at Chez Panisse, one of the best restaurants in America. Take that!”
I tried to stay at work, but I had to leave because I couldn’t stop crying. I tried to hide it, to avoid others. No luck. At one point one of my closest colleagues asked, “Jem, are you okay? Are you mad at me?”
I mumbled, “Of course I’m not mad. I’ll be okay. I’m not feeling well and am going home.” Zero eye contact. Not exactly the swift, low impact exit I wanted to make.
Shit. Am I going to have explain? What can I say? “I got some bad news.” Lie and say, “I had a really bad headache”? Fuck. I don’t want to talk to people about this. During the whole IVF cycle I simply explained that I was having “female issues” while making vague gestures in the vicinity of my tummy. I work with all men and this was enough. I don’t want to be the subject of office gossip, or discussion, no matter how well-meaning.
OMG, I just looked down and there are strings of snot on my sweater ask I’m typing this. I’ve been crying THAT hard and wiping my nose with a napkin I stole on my way down to my train. I’m on my back to my little suburb, to curl up on the couch with my sweet kitties Sharkey and Fluffy and of course with Mr. Jem. Maybe I’ll be up to watching something light and humorous on TV to get me out of this funk, but right now I’m just being sad.
Sad, but also mad, angry as all get-out and with more sad under that.
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