I’m in a really dark place right now. I can’t really write about it now. Maybe later. Maybe not at all. Needless to say I’ve spend much of the past two days crying. I break down all the time. For no reason at all really. I still can’t believe it happened, to be honest.
I was so sure I was pregnant. So absolutely, 100% positive. I mean, i had a test to confirm my beliefs. But I wasn’t. It was all just the most ridiculous mistake. I have no faith in myself anymore. I can’t trust myself at all. And I absolutely can’t trust Hope. She is a horrible c*** and I loath her with all my being. I will never surrender to her again. Never.
I have spent this weekend despairing, to be sure. But there have been moments of incredible gratitude for what I have. I don’t take for granted the bounty in my life. The lights of my daughter, my partner, our house, our health, they are the only things making the darkness of work and TTC navigate-able. Barely.
Monday I should get my period and then we start on our tenth month of trying (this counts the month we royally fucked up and the one we pretty much fucked up, which probably I shouldn’t count, and haven’t counted in the past, but since we tried to try those months but were thwarted by my funky ovulation, in my heart, I need to count them). I remember reading a set of statistics when I was first trying to get pregnant. I don’t remember the numbers exactly but I believe it went something like this: Every month of trying, 15% of couples will get pregnant. So if you start with 100 couples, that means in the first month 15 will get pregnant, in the second month only 12 (because now there are only 85 left to get pregnant), in the third month 11, and so on. After the twelfth month, 15 will remain. They are the 1 in 7 of couples that will be deemed infertile.
The book where I read this (I can’t for the life of me remember which it was, and I have looked through many) had a chart showing how many couples would get pregnant every mont and how many would remain. I attempted to recreate it.
Month — couples that achieve pregnancy — couples left
1 –15 — 85
2 — 12 — 73
3 — 11 –62
4 — 9 –53
5 — 8 –45
5 –6 –39
6 — 6 –39
7 — 6 –33
8 — 5 — 28
9 — 4 — 24
10 — 3 — 21
11 — 3 –18
12 — 3 — 15
I might have made some small mistakes but I think I have the basic gist of it down.
So here we are, starting on our 10th cycle. Of the hypothetical 100 couples that started trying when I did, 76 of them are already pregnant. Only 24 of them are not. Of those 24, only three will get pregnant during the 10th month trying. Of those 24, only 9 will actually get pregnant before the year is up. Statistically speaking, having made it this far without getting pregnant, I have almost twice as much chance as being in the 1 in 7 as I do of achieving pregnancy.
The numbers don’t look good.
I don’t know why I keep going back to those numbers, but I do. I have every month. I fixate on them. I try to find some meaning in their statistical promise. But I can’t. Mostly I just find fear. Or maybe it’s validation for my fear that I find.
These last two days have been hard. Brutal. I keep seeing this scene in my head, from the movie Igby Goes Down (which I haven’t seen, or thought of even, in years) where an increasingly unstable Bill Pullman (playing Kieran Culkin’s father) huddles in the shower, fully clothed and bloody from smashing the glass door, and tries to explain to his son: I feel this great, great pressure, coming down on me. It’s just constantly coming down on me. Crushing me.
I just keep seeing that scene, and hearing those words.
I feel this great, great pressure, coming down on me.