I want to write a serious post, a post I've been thinking about for a long time, but these are not serious-post conditions, people. I'm in bad shape over here. Stuffy head, headaches, sniffling, sneezing, nosebleeds, and overall ickyness and tiredness. Plus, it's day 29, and my period hasn't started yet. My cycles are normally 25-28 days, but I get a 30-day cycle every couple of years. Why does it have to be this month, though? I wanted to get the crying over with before my head got any more stuffed up. Too late now.
I can't lie and say that I'm not hoping, a little, that this isn't another 30-day cycle, but something else entirely... I can't even say it. I can barely whisper it to myself. I feel like saying it, or posting it, will just make it that much harder when it turns out to not be true.
At the end of this past August, about a year after we first started trying to conceive, I started my period and melted into a breakdown you wouldn't believe. (Actually, you probably would believe it. You've been there.) I had stopped working for the summer, so I had whole days in which to cry big, jagged sobs which wracked my body. One morning in the middle of this I had to drive over from our apartment to our new house so that I could meet the guys who were coming to install new carpet. On the way over I bought a bagel to give my face something to do, and frantically wiped the tears from my cheeks, hoping that I'd be able to appear semi-normal to the carpet guys. I managed it by keeping my sunglasses on the entire time. (Hey, it was a bright day, okay? I'm sure they totally fell for it.)
I remember sitting cross-legged on our bed, folding laundry in martyr-like silence and letting the tears stream down, not even trying to stop them. My cheeks were wet, my lips were wet, my legs, bared by gym shorts, were wet. I screamed at Bryan when he came into the room to see how I was doing. "Do you think I'm doing this to myself? Do you think I'm forcing this misery?" I can still taste the grief of those days, acidic and salty, nose stuffed and chest aching, whole body exhausted from the repetitive assault of the sobs.
Sharing with Bryan has helped. Blogging has helped. But I'd be lying if I didn't admit that, every month, the ghost of August's hysteria is with me. I might cry for only a couple minutes now, clinging fiercely to my husband, but I am still that girl, the girl who lost it just a few months ago. The pain is still just as deep. And really, I can't imagine that the pain of infertility could ever be any less.