Spent

Cycle 26. BFN. CD25 and I'm already starting to bleed. Don't know how much longer I can beat my head against this brick wall. Each month, I like to pretend that I've stepped away from the wall unscathed, but that would be a huge lie. Who am I kidding? I'm spent.

Waking up every morning at 6am for over a year to take my temp. I wake up without an alarm because my body is so used to it now. Diligently charting every day. Trying what I can. Nothing. I'm spent.

Babies everywhere. Everywhere I go. Everyone I talk to. Everywhere I turn. Everywhere I look. I can't run. I can't hide. Babies. None of them are mine. I'm spent.

"It'll happen." "I know a girl who was 46 when she had her first." "God will get you through this and bring you a baby." "I'm so sorry." "What about adoption?" "It must be so hard." "Have you seen an RE?" "You haven't been trying that long, have you?" "Medicine is so advanced now that something will help." I'm sick of all the questions, stories of hope, sad looks, dancing around the subject, people avoiding me, and my life being on hold for something that's obviously not going to happen. I'm spent.

Where do we go from here? Do I call Dr. Terrific and tell him that I would delight in him cutting through my abdomen and into my uterus to try to fix me again? Do I pray that the hospital will even treat me since I'm having a hard time paying the medical bills from my surgery only six months ago? Or would it be me still paying the bills from the surgery one year ago? Should we find another RE - you know - a competent one? By doing any or all of that, would we then maybe get have a tiny, little glimmer of hope for a baby? I don't know. I'm spent.

I become increasingly tempted just to cut off all communication from the world. Delete my blogs. Delete my Facebook account. Not even attempt Twitter. Quit reading everything on my Google Reader. Then I'd have to turn off the TV & radio. Not read anything. Not go out in public. Don't answer the phone. If any of it would help, I would do it. Becoming a complete recluse won't make the hurt and pain go away.

I'm hoping all of these feelings are PMS, but not matter how many fake smiles I plaster on my sad face, the feelings don't go away. 2 years and 2 months. I've lost myself. I've lost my dreams. I've lost hope. I'm tired. I'm broken. I'm just spent.