An early BFN came my way yesterday — for those of you not reading infertility blogs on a regular basis, that stands for big f-ing negative (pardon my french). Hubs and I were trying to process last night but realized, there really isn’t anything to process. It just sucks. We’re just not pregnant. Again. For like the 24th time.
I’m trying to muster up something inside of me to care about my really full workday ahead. I really need the Lord for that one.
I’m also realizing this “no” feels like the beginning of the end. If we decide to do one more IUI it will be our last and so this time next month we will know if we’re going to have to move on to adoption or IVF. That’s looking pretty likely. I’m trying to have a realistic and faithful amount of hope but also am preparing myself for that next step.
Enough of that depressing rant. I’m treating myself to a chai latte as big as my head on my way into work this morning.
. . . . .
So I stepped away from blogging to get a call from my doctor — who called me back herself, by the way — and, in the meantime, the old clinic beeped in. Chaotic morning calling doctors’ offices, playing phone tag, and I’m actually on hold as I “speak” to get an appointment nailed down.
However, I just have to complain here for a moment. What’s worse than having to go to work when you’re super sad to see six patients, have a meeting, and class back to back? When your first patient comes in and immediately announces that she’s pregnant. Yep, that’s right people. On her first month trying. I just prayed “Jesus, fill me. Help me. Help me to be what this patient needs for 50 minutes, help me to get through these 50 minutes.” So I just did. I survived, and I even think I was helpful to her in that time.
Taking this day one step at a time.