Guilty Pleasures

I've been a little down lately. I can't help it. I completed my second cycle on Glucophage and was convinced I might have just managed to get myself pregnant. But alas, as usual ... it wasn't meant to be. I hate hope. It's a thorn in my side. I feel like such a fool for letting myself hope every month. I know better, I always tell myself, but I do it again anyway. Hope is both a blessing and a curse.

As my temperature climbed and various other signs started popping up, I got to live in this euphoric land of what it must feel like for others who get pregnant easily at anticipating a potential pregnancy. For just a couple of days, I indulged in THAT world of joyful anticipation and what ifs and when I'd be due -- a rare guilty pleasure I usually don't dare allow myself to even take a bite of. But for two days, I let my hopes run wild. And it felt good to live in that world for just a little while. Despite knowing the downfall would be harder if I let myself go there, I just plain hoped. I hoped like I'd been trying three months and infertility wasn't part of my vocabulary. I hoped like I'd never been to a fertility doctor. Like I'd never taken a fertility drug. Like my heart had never been broken.

I hoped.

Unfortunately, I was rudely awakened out of my euphoria, but despite my disappointment and sadness, it was worth it to indulge my hopes. It was worth it to dream. Perhaps because for a couple of days, hoping made me feel normal and like the fertiles of the world. Hope makes me crazy and keeps me sane.

What a polarity to manage.

Faxed my charts in to the doctor as he wanted to review them. Apparently I'm a huge nerd, because nurse says I am the only one she's ever had actually do it when asked. They were quite impressed. Nice doctor left a message and said they looked good, to keep sending the info and a kind, heartfelt "good luck to you" as if he was signing off or something. There was something so unsettling in that statement. I can't really explain it. I'm not in treatment and am sort of on my own now (and glad to be), so I get that, but the "good luck to you" just seemed so final. Cut-off. Done. My entire year last year revolved around that place with no success, so it was like, good luck to me? Good luck?! That's all you have to say? I'm not sure what I wanted him to say. I think I'm just being sensitive. I know it was just a phone message and I know I can call them anytime, but you know what I mean. I'm still raw and grieving everything that happened and I guess being sensitive is to be expected.