So the drugs came yesterday. The box was … daunting.
Once I got it home, got the Gonal-F into the fridge, and checked over the inventory,* I found myself completely unable to deal with the fact that that box is indeed full of needles. Needles that are forthwith going into my soft fleshy underbelly.
I don’t have a needle phobia, really, but no one likes injections.**
It’s not like I wasn’t aware of what is about to happen (I haven’t been living under a rock, after all), but somehow seeing all those freaking needles laid out on my living room floor was too much for me yesterday.
We have been beating our heads against this particular wall for four years now. Most of the bloggers I started following in March 2010 (when I fired up The Intertubes for the first time) are now parents. While I was treading water, doing absolutely nothing due to my own potent combination of depression, anxiety, and no reasonable way to pay for treatments, you all were out there fighting. I vacillate between seeing your successes as inspirational (“if she can do it, maybe I can too”) and seeing them as tick marks on some Cosmic Scoreboard for a game that I am never going to win.
I hate that little competitive part of myself. I know this isn’t a zero-sum proposition — I know that Babies for You does not mean No Babies for Me — and it’s not often that I fall into that trap, but when I do it’s hard to get out.
It’s obnoxious, and envious, and I want it out of my personality.
But it’s a factor, along with the four years (48 months; 208 weeks; 40% of my marriage; 12% of my life) of absolutely nothing, in my unshakable belief that this is not going to work. I don’t think there is a baby in my future. Starting next week I am going to use all of those needles, one by one, and then I am going to have eggs sucked out of my ovaries, and then my husband’s sperm is going to be injected into those eggs, which will be deposited back into my uterus, and there is no part of me that believes that this sequence of events is going to result in a baby.
Not that that’s going to keep me from being inconsolably depressed when it doesn’t work.
* There are so many drugs in my house right now that they came with an INVENTORY. Just deal with that, please.
** OK, maybe somebody does. It takes all kinds, right?