I wish I were the type of person who could get angry instead of depressed.  Depression aches like a sharp dagger pointing at my heart.  It makes it hard to breathe.  It is impossible to get the tears to stop.

The confidence that we will be parents again is there.  That is unwavering.

But the disappointment that this is not our time, AGAIN, that this frozen embryo transfer did not work, despite all of the love and the prayers and the positive energy that each of you sent to me, to us, is baffling, overwhelming, and just plain painful.

I had to save this document right now under the title of this blog posting, and without a moment’s hesitation, I decided to name it, “Failure”.  That is really the best way to put it, isn’t it?

The problem is, when something fails, someone is accountable, and I refuse to be held accountable for this.  My husband and I did every fucking thing that is medically and spiritually possible to allow for this pregnancy.

We prayed, and we held hands, and we created the best energy possible to allow for the baby.

I have bruises and welts on my butt from the progesterone oil shots that Craig stuck me with every night.

I gained weight, I suffered insomnia, I had night sweats, and yet I still woke up every day and did my job so that we as a dual income house-hold could stay the course and deal with the incredible costs.

We have paid over $12,000 in fertility bills in ‘13.

We paid $58,390.89 in ’12.

(And I don’t feel like going through the other years at this moment.)

That sort of dedication SHOULD be rewarded. That sort of commitment to the idea of loving, protecting, nurturing, dancing with, playing with, tickling, and hugging a child SHOULD be achievable.  It’s not like I’m praying for a new car.

And it will be rewarded. I know that. Craig knows that. But for fuck’s sake, when?

We move into a new home this Friday. It is 3 bedrooms and 2.5 baths. We have been gathering our items to move, which includes all of Finley’s baby items, from the area in the closet that I typically refuse to acknowledge.  We have plenty of clothes and carriages and cute toys for Finley’s brother or sister, just waiting.  (Well if we have a girl, actually, I imagine we’ll have to get lots of different clothes.)

I have had to hold pre production meetings with corporate car clients while having a high fever and sweating the whole time. I have been on commercial film shoots with severe colds.  I have had conference calls during which I ran to the bathroom to throw up because of a crazy flu that made me hallucinate.  – You know the saying: The show must go on.

But today, the pain is so great, the depression so overwhelming, that I have to work from home. I had no choice, really: My typically blue eyes are blood shot.  My noise is swollen and red.  My complexion is puffy.  And my sadness is palpable; I imagine if anyone besides Craig saw me, they would not be able to focus on what I might be saying, because they would be sidetracked by the incredible depression I am both showing, and feeling.

We will be OK.  The baby will come.  There is more than one way to become a parent.  But for today, I am sad, and because you have all become a support group to me, and let me know that I am not alone, I wanted to share this.

To be continued.

9 thoughts on “Failure

  1. I’m so sorry to hear your news. You are grieving and who could blame you for that. Stay strong! Love your hubby! And feel the love around you!

  2. I am so sorry to hear this. I am sending you love and hugs! I know that it will happen for you – try to stay positive! xoxo

  3. Hang in there Lorraine. I know you don’t need to hear it but knowing you and Craig – failure is not an option.

  4. oh lorraine, i was so hoping to be reading a completely different story today. my heart truly breaks for you because of all that you have endured, and also because i know firsthand how badly you are aching right now. i’m glad that you have such an amazing support system…and that you know you are never alone & so dearly loved.

  5. I’m so sorry Lorraine. There are no words or reason as to why this needs to be so difficult. I understand your pain. Cry, take it day by day and remain hopeful. You are in my thoughts.

  6. I am so sorry, Lorraine. I can only imagine your sadness. Thinking of you and Craig. Sending you guys a hug and tons of hope.

  7. I was on the edge of my seat all weekend waiting for the news. I am so sorry it didn’t take this time. You are entitled to be sad, grieve, be pissed off, break some plates, or just stay in bed all day. We are all sending you love and support and lots of good thoughts. You’re doing everything right. And I agree with the above comment – for you, failure isn’t even a part of your vocabulary! Take extra special care of yourself today.

  8. When I saw the title of your post, my heart broke. I am so sorry for your sadness and disappointment. It is so hard to endure this and stay strong and so positive through it all. I pray that you will have good news to share soon.

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