I have two confessions.
The first is that I got up and walked right out of a get-together on Friday night, without saying goodbye, without much explanation. I felt a little crazy, and giddy with the realization that I was acting like a crazy person. I ran outside on the street, flagged a taxi, and stumbled home into the safety of my husband’s arms.
It all seemed like a harmless, happy way to spend a Friday evening: Girls Night In, hosted by my sweet friend C. There would be cocktails and snacks and gossip, and maybe I could escape from this purgatory for a little while.
When I walked in there were two girls there already, both with big, gorgeous bellies. I know both of these women, and I learned from social media that they were pregnant, but being faced with those triumphant bellies in person knocked me off-guard. I fought through it, asking them the normal pleasantries (due date? gender? how are you feeling?) before making my way to the bar.
Two more women arrived, both new mothers, excited for a night out. I found myself between two conversations, pregnancy and motherhood. I sipped my wine, invisible.
Another knock at the door, and there was my friend A, resplendent and glowing. She is 7 months pregnant, and I have successfully avoided her for 7 months. We both decided to start trying at the same time, and her victory was swift. I cried when I heard the news, which was a week after my first miscarriage.
I said hello to her and then I walked out onto the balcony. I couldn’t breathe, my face hot and flushed. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I tried to inhale the cool evening, but instead I crumpled, in tears.
The lovely hostess C found me.
“Oh my goodness, what’s wrong!?” She exclaimed.
“I’ve just been through a miscarriage and I’m struggling around all of these pregnant women. I’m so sorry. I think I should go.” I tried to be brief and rational.
“Oh, honey, that’s awful,” and she wrapped me in a hug.
“I’m so sorry,” I kept muttering as she handed me my coat and hugged my sympathetically. She was wonderfully gracious. The next day she sent me a note, and we made a date to get coffee. I haven’t reached out yet to A, or to any of the other women there – I’m not sure what to say. I suppose I will fall back on the now familiar “I wasn’t feeling well.”
I have another confession. I was supposed to skip this cycle, as my RE said it would be healthy to take a break. Our plan is to start Femara next cycle, and I was instructed to call when my period starts. On Thursday I got a beautiful OPK, with ample EWCM, and I couldn’t resist: we tried.
Once again, I am in the three week wait. The result will likely be the same, but at least I know there is another option if it doesn’t work out. It seemed like an okay gamble to take.
Here we go… a final unmedicated try. Crazier things have happened.