This was supposed to be a different post.
I was going to write about how emotionally and psychically drained I've been feeling lately. About how I've been dragging my feet over my planned Clomid/IUI cycle and wasn't feeling any joy or optimism about it. About how after a really long talk with a close friend yesterday, I had come to realize that I was looking forward to taking a break from TTC more than I was looking forward to trying to get pregnant. And how that made me realize that maybe I shouldn't go through with this next treatment cycle. Because my heart wasn't into it, and deep down I didn't believe that it would work anyway.
I was going to write about how I summoned up the courage to call Dr. G. this morning and cancel my CD baseline ultrasound and admit to you all that I just needed to take a break, get off the treadmill, break the cycle of deja vu. About how light and free I felt after cancelling, that I actually felt more like myself than I had in months.
That I went to the gym for the first time in a really long time and took a salsa aerobics class because I had energy to spare. That I went out with my friend N, and without even knowing what I had done, she said to me over lunch, "What I love about you is that you have such an honor and respect for your body and its needs." And that I then took the $185 I was going to spend on my ultrasound and went and got a haircut, a brow wax, and a brazilian and had leftover money to book a massage with N for next week.
I was going to tell you that I felt like I had taken back my life back, just for a little while. That I did the right thing and listened to that voice inside that said, "I don't feel like doing this," and I gave my tired and anxious self a reprieve. That even though I was going to let go of hope for this cycle, I wasn't going to waste the time - I was going to love, nurture, and take care of myself.
I was at my computer about to write the post. I should've just written the damn post.
Instead, I saw the blinking on my answering machine and realized that my best friend M called. So I called her back.
She's thirteen weeks pregnant. THIRTEEN WEEKS. I had asked her point blank two months ago if she was pregnant, and she told me no. Maybe she didn't know at the time, but I can't help but feel like she lied to me. My. Best. Friend. Lied. To. Me. About. Being. Pregnant.
That peace I had cultivated for myself? Gone. That little cloud of understanding and bliss that I was floating on? Burst. I feel like the universe has just slapped me in the face.
I don't know how I got through the conversation. How I managed through the "We really weren't thinking about trying for another few months. It happened so fast." or "I had really wanted a March baby." or "I have to buy new maternity clothes because all my old ones were for winter."
I fooled her. Oh, God how I fooled her. I was so nice, I was so sweet. I laughed, and I said all the right things. And I was so very understanding and congratulatory, and all I wanted to do was scream at her, "Why did you have to tell me this today of all days? Why didn't you tell me earlier? Why didn't you tell me later? Why did you have to pee all over my peace parade?"
I have always prided myself on being able to put my grief aside when someone else gets pregnant. This is no longer the case. For the first time in more than two years of TTC, I wept, and I sobbed, and I cursed when I got off the phone after learning that someone else was expecting. I never, ever, ever thought that I would react this way to my best friend of all people.
I feel totally lost. I don't know if I did the right thing anymore. Part of me says yes, and the other part of me says it's not too late to ask for Clomid and get back on the treadmill.
I feel utterly betrayed. Betrayed by the universe, betrayed by my friend, but most of all, betrayed by my own good intentions and love for myself.
669th Friday Blog Roundup
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