Super result for a test, n'est-ce pas? Well, it started off as probably negative but the nurse wanted to check with the doctor and she came back with a definitely negative. I thought I was handling it well but now I just feel tiredly sad, as if I've run 10km and have no energy to do anything else.
I thought that if the Stirrup Queen's lounge exisited in my neighbourhood, I would probably go over and see who was there, have a coffee and chat a bit but if anyone asked how I was doing I would say, "Ok. I've got a plan B, we'll try that in a couple of weeks so that's good," and generally put on a brave face, "No, everything's fine, I'm feeling good, surprisingly," and it would only be when I got home that I would collapse in tears and lie on the couch watching junk TV. It was imagining this perfect support environment that made me realise that I accept support very badly, I need to slink off and lick my wounds. I am good about putting on a brave face but bad at letting people know how I really feel. Maybe because it feels like the devastation I feel seems so huge that I don't think anyone could handle it. I feel like people would fall into the huge black hole of disappointment and finally crawl out days later, shaken by its depth.
I was watching Scrubs last night and Carla asks the hot new gynae for a fertility test. "What the hell is a fertility test?" I asked my husband but I sat there, glued to the episode in case there was some test I had not yet done which might just shed some light on why I haven't fallen pregnant yet.
On one level it seems incredible that an IVF can fail. I mean, everything was there, everything was working. Why do the cells not carry on dividing? Why does implantation not take place? And what do I do next?
In the meantime I will read one of the 10 books I have bought in the past week. Yes, shopping therapy is in full swing over here. Clothes are boring, my boobs are too big for the clothes I like and all the tops at the moment look like pregnancy wear so back to my old favourite: books! I bought a wide range; Nigella Lawson for her comfort factor, detective stories for their fast-paced storylines and usual lack of anything babylike, a Roald Dahl biography to explain his secrets of success, some French books to expand the vocab (which I will probably never read), some junky chick lit and a Philip Pullman as I am big into children's fantasy at the moment. Aaah, just writing about my books is a balm to my soul. Come to me, my preciousesssss.