Every day I think of you. We have never met but I know your face, your essence. I can feel your hands in mine. Your head upon my chest. You are the missing piece of the puzzle. The one thing my life has always lacked. I thought we would have met sooner. I am 41 years old now and afraid we may never meet. By no means is 41 old, but the biological clock that ticks knows that time is running short. For eight years I have tried to create you through every physical, medical and spiritual path I could find.
My life has been a rollercoaster of emotions that run on two week cycles. Taking medicine, Chinese herbs, and hormone shots for days and weeks leading up to the possibility of conception. Using every possible method of ovulation prediction including taking my temperature on a daily basis to look for a half degree temperature change, collecting data on the stretchiness of my cervical mucus and spending hundreds of dollars on sticks to pee on, hoping any one of these methods will reveal the magical 24 to 48 hours when conception is possible. Then there is the waiting. Counting the days since possible conception to the start of my next cycle. Every day feeling hopeful that this time it took. This time I will be pregnant. This time I can change the page to the next chapter. Looking at the calendar counting the days until I can test. The make it or break it day that my cycle is supposed to start. Over analyzing every slight detection of something abnormal in my body wondering if the symptoms are early signs of pregnancy or something else. Multiple times during this period I will figure out when my due date would be. Then I calculate how much time I will take off for my pregnancy leave. Of course the first six weeks, but if I save up enough vacation time and sick days, maybe I would take three months off. I hate the idea of returning to work. How could I leave a baby that I have wanted for so long to the care of someone else? I am not even pregnant yet and already have guilt around returning to work. During this part of the waiting, I allow myself to walk through the baby aisles at the store. Picking out onesies, little socks and soft fluffy toys and blankets for baby. I don’t buy anything…I learned that lesson early on. It is too devastating to find the items later and remember all of the hope that filled the day that I made the purchase.
Inevitable it happens, I get my period, right on time like clockwork. You could predict the phases of the moon by my cycle. It is always 30 days. All the positive thoughts, all the day dreaming of being pregnant, all the planning gone in a flash. The sinking feeling of failure again. Cursing God, the universe, cursing myself for having hope. Wanting to crawl back into bed and hide from the world. Telling myself this is the last time. I am done trying. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t live this rollercoaster. I avoid the baby aisles at the store. I block my friends on Facebook that post pictures of their baby every day. I curse the happy birth announcements by friends and colleagues. I have grown used to my unexpected bouts of crying. Day 5 of my cycle comes around again and I take another clomid…just in case this month is the month that it will happen.