Week Four was the hardest week of all. This was when I needed to start taking progesterone supplements to support the pregnancy if I had, in fact, conceived. When I took progesterone in pill form, I struggled with depression. When I took progesterone in other forms, I had to deal with the logistics because the other forms were messy and uncomfortable.
I would spend my time during Week Four examining every nuance of my body, looking for signs to show that I had conceived. Did my breasts hurt more or less than they normally did during this time of my cycle? Was I more tired than usual? Was that a slight cramp, proving that my uterus was supporting a baby? I would count down the days until I could find out one way or the other.
As the end of the week approached, I would tense up each time I went to the bathroom. Each time that Aunt Flo (AF) had not visited meant that I really could be pregnant this time. I kept hoping that my dreams were about to come true, but then I would berate myself for getting my hopes up. I would try really hard not to hope, but I simply could not help myself: I wanted to be pregnant so badly.
Because of the hormones I was taking, I could not use an over-the-counter pregnancy test to determine whether I was pregnant. The hormones could cause me to have a false positive result, and the last thing I needed was to build my hopes up that high if I had not conceived. Instead, my doctor’s instructions were to wait until AF was a couple of days late and then come in for blood work to determine if I was pregnant.
AF would routinely come late, causing me to get my hopes up and then have them shattered with one trip to the bathroom. I cannot tell you how many pleasant dinners were ruined that way. My husband started tensing up each time I used the bathroom during Week Four because he knew what was coming. Meanwhile, each bathroom trip without AF caused my hopes to build even more.
In most months, AF was the one to bring the bad news. However, there were a few times in which AF did not come, so I scheduled blood work to determine if I was pregnant. The results would take about 20 minutes, and I would have trouble focusing on reading a magazine as the minutes ticked by. Then, the nurse would call me back with an “I’m sorry,” and I would have tears rolling down my cheeks as I paid the bill. I felt sorry for the receptionist, who probably had to see devastated infertile women in tears on a daily basis.
I would bawl my eyes out, but there was not much time to do so because it would all start over again. We were back to Day Zero.
Related Topics:
- How to Stay Sane While Going Through Infertility
- Keeping Your Emotional Footing through Infertility
- Loving My Body in Spite of Infertility
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