With the new doctor came new medicines and procedures. Monthly ultrasounds to see whether not I was pregnant and monthly sadness that I wasn’t. This new drug, Femara (a breast cancer treatment), had less side effects, so that was welcoming and exciting. Hey, every little thing mattered at that point. I’d learned with the Damn Chlomid to take it at night to best avoid (or sleep through) the worst of the side effects.
In my March cycle, something weird happened. I didn’t feel quite myself and I honestly, felt pregnant. I couldn’t explain it, but I just knew. It was overwhelming happiness and striking trepidation all at once. Nothing could confirm it this early, but I…just…knew.
With an impending trip to Hawaii on the horizon, I focused dearly on it. Trying to not let my mind be consumed by the fact that I believed that I was pregnant was a stronger chore than my mind could allow. I’d find myself counting the days until I could confirm this.
On day 26, a knife-like stabbing pain occurred in my pelvic area. I could not stand up, I could not walk. I could only stand and endure the pain, the moment, the sadness. The next day, I didn’t “feel” pregnant anymore. Five days later confirmed my sad belief.
With nearly two years of trying, this level of sadness was the tipping point for me. Something different had to happen.
For the first time, the reality that this journey may end in a different destination than expected hit.
Part six: Hawaiian getaway.
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