Why I'm going to Hell

She is pregnant. She as in the one person who was not supposed to get pregnant before me. She is 7 weeks pregnant.

Many of us have a she, the one person who is just going to send us into a blind rage of devastation if she gets pregnant before us. Mine is a friend, Kathy, who lately feels like more of an acquaintance. In another setting, I'm not sure we'd find each other to become friends since we don't have much in common. But here, we are, having discovered each other because our husbands are best friends. And so we muddle our way through a friendship that is sometimes awkward, but other times quite rewarding. She and I have lately had some issues in our friendship that we have just recently struggled through patching up, but that's a different topic entirely.

Let me start from the beginning.....

Friday was a great day overall. I was finally starting to feel more like myself after some rough infertility days (see my two previous posts). I had a fun day with my students. We had our annual tech meet. It's this day when the kids work in small groups to complete a project and, while it was a hectic day, it was fun. I drive home, feeling the warm sun on my face, grateful that is is finally the weekend. I chat on the phone with my friend, Annie, who is Kathy's sister-in-law. Annie even asks me what I am so happy about. My response: I dunno. I'm just in a good mood. It's so nice out. (Not that I'm usually miserable. I just had extra pep that day.)

My husband arrives homes from work and tells me we're invited to Tom and Kathy's to grill. Sounds great. More time to sit outside and appreciate the weather. Head right over. The husbands run out to grab some stuff at the convenience store. I make myself a drink. Kathy and I are chatting while I mindlessly flip through a gossip magazine, my back to her, as she folds laundry.

"I have something to tell you that I'm scared to tell you..." Oh f*ck me, you have got to be kidding me! F*uckity f*ck f*ck! She doesn't even have to keep talking. I know what's coming next. And it does, "I'm pregnant." She continues on and I think I even answer a few times but I don't know what I said. All I know is that my chest hurts and it's hard to breathe.

I am so grateful my back is to her so she doesn't catch my initial reaction of sheer horror. I muster up the strength to turn around and face her and mangle my way through a few minutes of conversation about her pregnancy. How she found out, how she can't believe it happened because she wasn't even trying (insert f*ck you here), how the baby looked on the ultrasound. I, meanwhile, am doing the world's worst job at faking enthusiasm while trying not to burst into tears. It is just awful. I make myself another, rather large drink. It's work to keep from running out of the house.

My husband walks in the door with Tom. I'm looking at him frantically. He's staring at me quizzically. Tom starts talking to my husband and the three of them get into a conversation. I make a beeline for the front door.

Once outside, I realize I'm not really sure what to do from here. I'm expected to sit and enjoy dinner with them when all I want to do is run away to lick my wounds in solitude, maybe while rocking back and forth. I don't have my keys. I'm not wearing any shoes. All I really have is my drink in my hand. Hey, at least I have this drink in my hand. That's something, right? I crumble on the curb in tears.

My husband follows me out. All I can manage through my sobbing is, "She's pregnant." Tom hadn't told him yet. My husband puts his arm around me and I continue to cry...and drink. I would give a million dollars to leave right now. I would give my right arm. I would give my first born...wait, no, take that part back. My husband stays with me for a while. We talk. Mostly I just cry and keep saying that I don't understand why God is letting this happen. I say some hateful stuff. Really hateful stuff that I'm too ashamed to even share. The whole thing really brings out the worst in me.

My huband eventually heads back in but I just can't. I"m not ready. The tears keep coming. My husband comes back out for a while. He heads back in again. I'm not ready. The tears keep coming. My husband comes back out to tell me it is time for dinner. He heads back in. I muster my strength and head in. I go to the bathroom first to wash up. After splashing water on my face, I am no longer splotchy and only have red, teary eyes. Great, I can't wait for dinner.

If you're ever looking to have a really awkward meal, I highly recommend having dinner with a couple immediately after you broke down sobbing in response to them sharing their joyous news. We spend about 10 minutes talking about pasta salad because it is the only thing that will fill the void.

After dinner, the boys go outside to smoke cigars. Kathy and I sit down to watch TV. Knocked Up is on. We watch it. I can't even comment on the fact that this was the movie we ended up viewing. It's too ridiculous. While watching the movie, I check my phone and see that I have a text. Are you ready for this? You won't even believe me. It's that ridiculous. It's from a coworker and says: Is that you on the curb? Are you ok? Oh.my.God. A teacher I work with drove by and saw me sobbing on the curb. That's f*cking awesome. I stare at the text, pondering the odds of her driving by when I realize that earlier Kathy mentioned that she already told my very good friend (and her sister-in-law), Annie, about her pregnancy and Annie talked to me today. She didn't tell me! Why wouldn't she tell me?! I'm instantly angry with her and fire off the following drunk text: You didnt tell me. She texts me back but I don't answer. She calls me but I don't answer. I'm surprised I sent the hostile text in the first place and am afraid that I will say angry, hateful things to her if I talk to her. I continued to stew over the fact that I'm watching Knocked Up during this whole debacle.

So you may be wondering, whatever happened to the drink that was in Jacki's hand earlier? Oh, don't you worry, my friend. It was guzzled down quite quickly. And refilled. And guzzled down quite quickly. And refilled again....and so on. Until, about halfway through the movie, when I get up to refill again and walk into a doorway. Not through a doorway. Into a doorway. It's time to go home.

I approach Mr. Jaguar to announce this news. Kathy interrupts to let me know that she can drive me home. She doesn't mind and the boys are still working on their cigars. Awesome. Let's get in a car for more awkwardness. I hand my husband my car keys to drive himself home later.

Thankfully, I only live a few miles away. About a mile from home, I realize my house key is attached to my car key which is now attached to my husband instead of me. Hmmm...we get to my house. Front and back doors are locked. There is no way I'm going back to Kathy's house. I'll sleep in my yard first. I find an open window. Kathy is begging me to let her help get in the house being as I am inebriated. Go away, pregnant girl. I got this. I balance myself on the armrests of two plastic chairs and climb in the window with what I'm pretty sure is the agility of a gazelle which, up until this very moment, I never knew I actually possessed. Kathy may be willing to argue this part of my story, but I'm sticking to it.

3 strikes, I'm out!

I let infertility control my life again. I hate when I do that.

Let me preface this by saying that I'm almost done taking my 100 mg of Clomid. This is right around the time that my side effects started last cycle. Sure enough, last night the insomnia kicks in and today, I'm overly emotional and trying not to cry.

I went to a retirement dinner for two of my colleagues. It should've been a nice night for me to relax and enjoy myself with the other teachers.

Strike one: It's just been a long day. I worked, then tutored, then went straight to dinner and just throw the insomnia on top of that. I'm sleepy.

Strike two: I arrive early to ensure a good table with friends. My principal crashed our table...even when we told her it was full (she just took someone's spot!). My principal doesn't even like me! Why does she feel compelled to sit with me? Following the principal's lead, another administrator comes to steal a friend's spot at our table. This meal is going to feel like a day at work! Why don't you just make me come in on Saturday already?

Strike three: At the table in front of me, there is a veeeerrrrrrrry pregnant woman. Like, we may have to deliver her child on the dance floor pregnant. This means I will more than likely be fixated on her all night while contemplating my bitterness and extreme jealousy.

Three strikes, you're out the door. I should have just left. God was giving me clear signs to leave from the get go. Note to self: Next time, ignore peers and proper, social etiquette and instead listen to God. He is all-knowing, after all.

But I stay. I stay to stare at the pregnant woman, smile politely at my bosses and try not to nod off at the table. And then I start feeling like I'm going to cry again. Greeaat. I'm doing my best to suppress the tears and, big surprise, I end up needing to leave the table.

In the bathroom, I quickly compose myself. The verdict is good. My makeup is intact and I'm not splotchy. My game face back on, I head out to the table for round two.

As I sit back down, a woman I haven't seen in a while catches my attention. "Are you pregnant?" she asks. Night over. After saying my very quick goodbyes, I'm out.

I'll take the antibiotics and a minor breakdown

Conclusions up to this point:

1. I refuse to go on anymore Valentine's Day dates with my gynecologist because he throws around dirty words like infertility on the most romantic day of the year.

2. I feel broken...most of the time.

3. I feel very alone...sometimes. Even when surrounded by the love and support of family and friends, I sometimes just feel so alone in this.

Moving on...
March 8th~ I blindsided my family doctor today. Looking back, it's a little funny. I was sick and I mean sick. It was just a sinus infection but it was one of those ones where you're bargaining with God....if you make me feel a little better, I'll be nicer to people who annoy me, if you bring me any relief at all, I will be less sarcastic and even try to swear less (that's right, I felt so bad I was willing to give up the swearing). On the way to my appointment, I decided that I would also ask my doctor if he could refer me to a counselor. I'd been having a hard time dealing with my problems trying to conceive, some issues at work and just feeling unhappy in general. I knew that when I went to ask him, I was probably going to get a little teary.

So, I'm in with the doctor, he's checking me out and diagnosing my sinus infection. He casually asks, "How are things going with trying to get pregnant?" and I proceed to lose my sh*t. I wasn't teary, I went straight to the ugly cry...y'know the one where your whole face gets red and puffy, tears are streaming down your cheeks, and you can't talk clearly. I was even making those little, pathetic, hiccup-type noises. Well, my poor, sweet doctor looked like he wanted to die. He's apologizing and trying to console me while I'm telling him that it's okay because I was going to cry today anyway and that it's not his fault. The whole situation was so ridiculous that I can't even write about it now without giggling. Ahh, the joys of infertility.