We are going tomorrow to see if we qualify for a that study that would give us four months of IUI with fertility drugs. I have never been so torn about anything. Never wanted to do and not do something so equally in my entire life. Well, that’s not true. I really don’t want to do this, not at all, but I would never forgive myself if we did not try. In equal parts. In any event, the next four months might be really, truly awful. Crazy on drugs. 8 appointments a month. 4 torturous two week waits. OR, I’ll find out tomorrow that we don’t qualify for some odd reason. Which will be devastating in its own terrible way, because my doctor has told me the likelihood of getting pregnant without assistance would be nothing short of a miracle.  Not qualifying will put me 4 months closer to the inevitable.

Of course I realize there is a chance that 4 months of IUI could actually get me pregnant, but honestly, I don’t believe that. I don’t believe that 100 months of IUI will do a thing for me. In truth, I think I have lost all hope of ever getting pregnant. When I think about the future – the next 4 months, the next 12 – I just see the disappointment. I only see me in one year’s time without a baby. I see having to deal with the loss. The only future I can honestly foresee is the greif and then eventual acceptance. And god knows how long that will take.

I can’t tell if it’s because I intuitively have this knowledge of my absolute infertility or because there is still some smattering hope deep down somewhere and I have to hide from it at all costs. Even the tiniest bit of hope makes each month a million times harder. Even a little bit of enthusiasm makes each flush of blood that much of a bigger heartbreak.

Having no hope at all might be the only way to survive the next four months. I can hear a dozen voices say (these are the same “just relax and it will happen” voices), “well, with that sort of attitude…” and all I can say to them is ‘go fuck yourselves’.