March 14

I've been out of work since March 14. It was the weekend before that Mrs Grandma Fox (Mr Fox's) mom had visited. It was that following Friday, March 11 that the cramps started, that my post failed FET cycle started, that the passing of clots started. It was that Saturday that I stayed in bed, with the heating pad, and wore the heating pad for comfort.  It was that evening that I called my GP to tell her i was passing clots and having significant cramps. Her response was so normal, so appropriate in some way, that it would be normal to have more cramps and pass clots after a chemical pregnancy, that it was nothing to worry about. But it wasn't what I needed to hear. I needed to hear that she was so sorry, that it was going to to be hard to have physical symptoms that made you think about the emotional symptoms. I needed her to acknowledge the pain and loss that I had and was experiencing. I needed her to not 'blow me off' when I was calling to get ... to get what? ... She is a GP and was going to address the medical issue, but I expected something that would validate me and acknowledge that I was a whole person and that the physical pain could trigger some of the emotional pain that i'd done such a great job of holding together.

A poppy flower just before it blooms.

On Tuesday March 15, we had our re-group with Dr G.  I'd called in sick to work already that week. He was so kind and gentle and explained that we just don't know why these things don't work sometimes For some sad reason we fell into the 5% of pregnancies that start but don't continue. no one knows why, its just thats the way is it. He said that we would add an antihistamine protocol to our next attempts, but otherwise I responded beautifully to the medication and everything else would stay the same. He suggested we take a month break before starting another cycle.

I'm not exactly sure how the rest of the week deteriorated but by Friday my mom and Mr Fox had made an appt to take me to my therapist. I was a mess. Crying about anything, desperately holding onto Mr Fox, I wasn't me. at all. I was lost, far gone. The conclusion at the therapy office was that I needed to see a psychiatrist ASAP, and the only way to do that was to go to the Emergency Dept. So off we went to the ED, where I was met at the door by the L&D director whom I work with professionally. Somehow Mr Fox managed to keep me from being admitted and getting me into an appt that afternoon. So off we went to the Psychiatrist who prescribed me a shit ton of drugs and made a n apt for the following week.

Its all a big fucking blur. I actually felt pretty good today, but writing this, it brings it all back, It makes me feel that hopeless nothingingness. That feeling like they might as well admit me to the Hospital Psych ward because at least I'd be taken care of there. Like maybe they have better medication than I do here at home.

It's late, and this was not my writing assignment. I should just take another xanax and put on a video.

I just want my life back. I just want it all back. It feel so fucking unfair and confusing.