Last night we went out for dinner with a group of friends. One has a new baby, one is about to give birth and the third is 4 months pregnant. It is that last one that hurt the most. They didn’t even mean to get knocked up! The injustice of that is difficult to swallow. But I’m still working hard at not getting bitter.
My sister is at a very advanced stage with her treatment and things are looking good. I am so excited for her and so envious at the same time. I have now had 7 failed cycles of Clomiphene. It is becoming expensive, exhausting and emotional. I feel like I’m surrounded by pregnant people and as much as I try to control it, my desperation is increasing daily.
I have no doubt that it will happen for me (hell, every person I talk to reminds me of that) but it’s damn hard waiting. While Mary and I have been travelling this road together it’s been great – when one of us gets there first it will suddenly be a pretty lonely road to be travelling alone. Everyone’s journey is slightly different. She feels like she’s been trying forever. So have I. Sometimes people don’t seem to remember that.
So this morning things got stepped up a bit. I went to my specialist and I am changing treatment programs. If the cycle I’m currently in the middle of fails, I get the pleasure of giving myself shots in the stomach every day. More needles… great.
But for all my moaning, I’m feeling positive again now that I’m moving forward. All this waiting time is just compounding the love I’ll have for my baby when it finally arrives.
And that can’t be a bad thing.