Following the cancellation of our IVF treatment, there was a glimmer of hope that we would continue again and have a little one on the way by Christmas. I would tell myself, "it isn't before Thanksgiving, but maybe by Christmas."
There is something about the holidays that never fail to remind me of the longing for a child. Maybe it is the fond memories I had as a kiddo that made me want to enjoy them with my own. Maybe it is the idea of "thankfulness" that reminds you of one more year without that blessing. Maybe it is being around the other littles of your friends and family, watching their excitement surrounding each event, that brings out that nagging feeling of pain.
As we walked into our first follow-up visit, there was a part of me that felt this overwhelming idea that my body wasn't ready. The remnants of bruises from our last go-around had yet to heal, and I continued to feel weak.
Once in the exam room, I waited for the doctor-anticipating the worst.
The doctor went through the routine before the dreaded words came, "from what I see here, your body just hasn't quite gone back to normal. I'm still seeing symptoms from the hyperstim and at this rate, I just don't foresee there being any option to start again before the end of the year."
Disappointment.
A feeling I had come to know all too well, yet never getting any easier. The rush of emotions flooded into my chest as it began to burn. I could tell the tears were coming on, and I blinked to try to stop them.
I couldn't.
My eyes welled up with tears as my doctor asked how I was feeling. The words wouldn't come as I looked at my clenched hands in my lap and bit my lip.
"Disappointed?" he asked.
The air in the room was thick as I peered over at my husband. Joshua and I nodded in agreement as I looked straight into the eyes of the man I continued to let down.
After much discussion over our options, we left with heavy hearts as we prepared for the holidays.
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