I dreamt of a baby

What I really wanted to do was curl up under my desk and cry. But they frown upon that in open concept offices. So I just kept working. My husband called around 5:30 asking when I’d be home. I have a lot of work to do I told him. Actually I didn’t have much to do. The truth was, I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to face him. I didn’t want to discuss yet another failure. I didn’t want to talk about next steps. Most of all I didn’t want to face an empty house. What I wanted to do was smash something. Punch a hole in a wall. Kick and scream at something or someone. But you can’t do that at work either. Instead I found a safety pin a carved a small L into my abdomen. L for LOSER.
That was three days ago. I’ve been working late every evening. Focusing on projects and spreadsheets seems easier than having to go home. I haven’t been able to have a conversation with my husband. In fact I haven’t been able to say much at all. I can’t formulate any complete thoughts. I can’t bear to call my mother. I’ve sent emails to my brother and sister asking them not to call me.

I thought I was prepared for this outcome. The HPT on day 9 had come up negative. But there was a little voice telling me ‘it’s too early. There’s still hope.’ The rational side of me knew that the cramps and PMS symptoms were a bad sign. The optimistic side wanted to believe there was a chance. I had steeled myself for the negative result yet when I got the phone call it HURT. It hurt more than the first time, more than the second time. More than all the previous negatives combined.
Because this negative is different.
This one means that I will never have a baby with my husband.

When my nephew was born my brother would send me pictures almost everyday. I wanted so much to be there and hold this wriggling new life. I started having intensely real dreams about Bubba. I could feel and smell him. After a couple of days the baby in this dream began to morph into a different baby. Our baby. It had my husband’s curly hair, my brown eyes, his smile, my long fingers, his perfect toes… I would wake up from these dreams with a vivid picture of what our baby would look like, aching to hold him or her. I thought it was just a matter of time before my baby dream came true.

I thought if I tired hard enough, wanted it enough and did all the right things that I could make this happen. If I tried just one more time maybe the probability gods would favour me. If I just went to the right clinic, did the right procedures, had the surgery, took the vitamins, tried protocol X instead of Y then maybe it would work.

Fuck. I mean FUCK. Just one of those times couldn’t one embryo have stuck around? How could ALL of them be bad? How can other people with endo get pregnant but not me? How can other people with one ovary or one tube get pregnant but not me?
How can my 41 year old lesbian friend get pregnant TWICE with IUIs but I cannot do it even once with 7 tries at IVF? How does my friend’s coke-addict-highschool dropout-living-with-an-ex-con sister get to have FOUR perfectly beautiful babies while I cannot have one?

I am so angry and I am so tired. And I’m fresh out of hope for my baby dream.