This morning was test morning. Since 7 or 8DPO my boobs have been incredibly sore and in the past day or two I’ve had to pee constantly, just like when I was pregnant.
I told Mi.Vida last night: I’m either pregnant or I have a UTI.
Last night I was so nervous to test I had a hard time falling asleep. When I finally did, I dreamt of beautiful BFPs. Each time I was sure it was the real deal and then Isa woke me up and, devastated, I realized it was just a dream. I probably had four or five of these dreams, each followed by its own devastating return to reality. But as I fell back asleep each time, there was unmistakable hope.
Eventually it was time to get up for good and I took a real test. The jury is in: I need to get tested for a UTI. It was so stark white, there is no way it could be anything but a negative. And even if it’s too early (11DPO) to know for sure, I have to admit to myself that if there’s not enough hCG in my body to make a faint line on a test, there is not enough to be causing these so called “symptoms.”
I think my mind is so desperate for a BFP that it’s tricking my body into manifesting symptoms that otherwise wouldn’t be there. Every time it gives me something it didn’t give me before, something new to stoke my hope. In the past few days, with my ta-tas so sore that I wince when I walk, my hope had been stoked into a roaring, crackling thing. Now it is a smoking heap of ash, wet from a bucket full of reality.
Our “infertility class” is a week from today. I guess it’s on to Plan B. But I’ll be honest, when I reserved a spot in that class, giving myself two more cycles to get pregnant, I didn’t really think I’d have to go. I’ve been wrestling with myself all week, whether I should go if I were barely 4 weeks pregnant. I was just sure one of these cycles was going to work. I still can’t believe I am here.
So now I guess it’s just about muddling through Thanksgiving without shedding too many tears. That probably won’t be too hard, none have fallen this morning. I’m dead inside where the disappointment lives. And every month that disappoint grows and grows, numbing everything around it. There isn’t anything left inside me that feels like crying. It’s just dead in there. And I wonder if that place can ever be resurrected.