The great ute reboot is underway. Last Wednesday I received my first Lupron depot injection. Right in the butt. And here I thought that since my RE uses Crinone instead PIO injections that I'd escaped the dreaded butt-shot monster. Alas, no such luck. Oh infertility. You always find a way, don't you? So far so good, but I'm not even a week in yet. I think the worst of the side effects (hot flashes, headaches, moodiness, etc) don't kick in for a week or two. M is currently enjoying the calm before the storm.
(Side note: If you Google "butt injection" looking for funny pictures of people getting shots in the ass with which to illustrate your point, you will instead find horrific plastic-surgery-gone-wrong photos. I won't inflict them on you. No need to thank me.)
October marks the two-year point in our attempt to have children. After getting married in April 2011, we (foolishly, it now seems) decided to wait six months to start trying. I had just turned 35, but we wanted a short while to enjoy being newlyweds before we threw kids into the mix. We also had a friend's wedding in Jamaica in January 2012, so we figured if we waited until September to start trying, I'd only be three or four months along if it happened right away (OH HO HO HA HA HA) so we could still travel. So in September we ditched the condoms and in October 2011, for the first time ever in my life, I hoped that I wouldn't get a period.
It seems like a lifetime ago.
When I started reading infertility blogs, I marveled at how long some of these women had been trying to conceive. How many cycles they'd been through. How many tests. All the diagnoses. The losses and the heartaches. And it scared me. I didn't want to go on this journey. I didn't know how I'd get through what these other women had experienced. I wanted to be the person who got unexpectedly pregnant while waiting for her first RE appointment. Or at the very least, who had a success on her first IVF cycle. But I was neither of those people.
I know that in the grand scheme of things, I haven't really had too bad a go of it. Every time I read about another miscarriage, I thank my lucky stars that it hasn't happened to me. Yet. I know it's still a possibility, but I've begun to feel more and more like I'm someone who just won't ever know what it's like to be pregnant. Which is its own kind of torture, really. To never know that joy of seeing a second line. To never have that moment, however brief, of imagining your future play out like you planned it. But never having that means that it never gets taken away, so I guess that's something.
I never thought I'd be here. I never wanted to be here. Two years later, two egg retrievals under my belt. One failed embryo transfer, and an uncertain future. A TTC timeline growing longer by the day. I've become one of those women I whose blogs I was reading two years ago. One of those women that I didn't want to become.