I was catching up with a work friend of mine at the staff holiday breakfast almost two weeks ago. We were chatting about winter break plans and how we were looking forward to getting some time to just relax, when she looked me dead in the eyes and said, “You’re gonna be a mom soon. I just feel it.” I was completely taken aback because I had not told her about what has been going on in my life. I asked her, with a nervous laugh, how she knew. She continued by saying, “Haven’t I ever told you this before? I have a sixth sense for these things. I’ve always been able to predict when my friends were going to get pregnant. I don’t know, it’s just something in my gut that I’ve always had.” I. Was. Shook. I ended up telling her about what had been going on, and she was surprised. Her last statement didn’t really hit me until this week. She said, “Well, whether it’s this way, or another way, I think you’ll be a mom soon.”
The reason why this conversation didn’t hit me until now is because the dream is no longer. I have been having major mixed emotions for the past month or so about how much more I could put myself through. Everything that I’ve done up until the last 3–4 months has been doable. All of the testing, doctor’s appointments, losing weight, saving money, and mental and emotional prep has been a breeze, but the heartache I’ve gone through while trying to actually get pregnant has been almost too much to bear. I told myself that I would give it one more go, see what happened, and then figure it out from there. I was feeling pretty good about this decision after I had that conversation with my work friend because it gave me a renewed sense of faith in the process, but a final nail in the coffin hit me like a truck on Monday.
I had emailed the clinic to tell them that the last IUI didn’t work, and that I was going to come in and try again with my new cycle. It wasn’t until a couple of days later that I received a response from the clinic telling me that the donor I have been using this whole time did not have any more vials of sperm left. My heart dropped as I read this. They asked if I had a second choice, which I did, but back in August, when I was narrowing down my decision, there were some genetic markers on the other donor that they wanted to further investigate. At the time, they said it would take about a month to get the testing done, and that I would also need to attend genetic counseling so I could be fully informed and prepared if I were to conceive a child that had any issues. If I were to go with my second choice at this time, it would mean that I would miss this January cycle, leaving only February as my last chance because the clinic is closing at the end of that month. The hammer had come down.
After I read that email, I knew that it was a sign telling me that I needed to stop and take a step back. I wrote to the clinic, telling them that I would be stopping all attempts, tears falling on my phone as I hunched over my kitchen table. My heart has been beaten to a pulp several times, but I think that it’s finally dead. I feel foolish for getting my hopes up so high when I have a lifetime of letdowns to prove me otherwise. I feel idiotic for ocasionaly perusing the baby aisles at stores, picking out names, looking online at daycare centers, and other baby related Google searches that I’ve done over the past year. I feel terrible and responsible for causing disappointment in the hearts of the loved ones I told. I feel like a failure. I feel like the universe is either punishing me, or has completely forgotten that I exist. But, mostly, I feel like a loser for dreaming so big, and falling so hard.
I have no clue what is next for me. Once again, I am lost, as I have been so many times before. So, this is the end of “Put a Baby in Me”. For now, or for always, I just don’t know.
