Sadly, this has become a theme in my life of late. I’ve been finding that I let stupid little things that have no importance disappoint me. Like when we went for pizza the other day, and they didn’t have any GF mozzarella sticks. I was bummed. Could I have come home and made my own? Absolutely, but I was looking forward to splitting an order with the hubby before our pizzas came out. Is it something worth being disappointed about? Absolutely not. It was stupid, yet I still let it irk me for a little while that night.
Then there is the big stuff. The real reasons to feel disappointed. Requesting a transfer and it being denied. That was rough. But I worked through it, because I can only be thankful that I still have a job where there are many people who don’t. This past Sunday, I was scheduled to take a home pregnancy test. Hubby and I had officially started trying again, I had taken my medication to encourage ovulation and I was taking the progesterone after I ovulated to help keep my levels increased so that if I were pregnant, the hormones would be supportive of it. Things were looking good. As it got closer to taking the test, I wasn’t breaking out or craving salty foods like I did the previous month as I got closer to my period starting. I had this pain in my right arm that didn’t seem to want to go away. I thought if it was a strain or pinched nerve, after a few days it would be better. It bothered me for over a week. I thought it was my “tell”, my indicator.
Sunday rolled around and when I woke up, I went right to the bathroom to take my test. The 3 minutes that it takes a pregnancy test to process is the longest 3 minutes in the world. I literally sat on the edge of the tub, praying that I would see a plus sign. Telling Michael that he will always be my first baby, and asking if he could just talk to God so that we could be blessed with a healthy baby. 3 minutes. All that praying and begging God takes about 30 seconds. I had 2 ½ minutes left to be tortured. And I sat and waited and waited. Time was up, I looked, and yet again, another failed test. No plus sign, just one ugly line. A barren line. A depressing line.
Now, I’ve failed this test many times since we started trying after losing Michael. In the beginning, I was deeply affected. Then, as the negatives became the norm, it was less painful to see. My skin was getting thicker. “Well, this wasn’t the month, it will be next month.” This time I lost it. I became a tear soaked, snot dripping mess. I spent the whole day trying to figure out why this negative test was so much worse than the previous. Then it came to me; we discovered why I was miscarrying, and I fixed the problem. Bye-bye gluten. And I’m so much healthier. My period comes on its own without medication, I’ve lost a bunch of weight, my intestines are healing and I just generally feel better. I was so wrecked by this negative test because I was sure that, because I’ve been on the right track, this month would have been the month. So another month, another disappointment.
But I don’t let myself get down for long, no worries. Back on the bike and doing what needs to be done with the hope that this cycle is the winning cycle. It’s really difficult sometimes, when you live every 30-34 days to hopefully see that plus sign.