I cried at work today.

This shit is getting out of control.

I did it.

I made an RE appointment. I had hoped this day wouldn't come, but here it is. I actually kind of feel okay about it. I guess I'm just ready to have this be over with, and I realized that continuing to put it off isn't getting us any closer.

It's such a mindfuck, though, and I truly feel like I'm grieving a loss. I went through all the stages. Am I finally in acceptance? I feel really okay over the last couple of days. It's almost as though making the appointment let me relax a bit.

It certainly took me long enough to make the call. I just wanted to believe that we could do this on our own. I still do, I guess. I just don't know if I can ever give up on that hope.

I'm also very scared about what we are getting ourselves into. Obviously, there will be a lot of poking, prodding, testing, and endless amounts of bloodwork. I'm as ready as I'll ever be for that part, I suppose. The HSG still scares the living shit out of me, though. I hope they'll drug me first.

I'm also scared of the amount of work this is going to be. Will S and I ever be off of work at the same time? Will I have to go to many appointments on my own? How much work will I actually be able to take off? How can we afford this?

I'm scared that it will work, too. Can we afford a child? Will our marriage be able to withstand any more stress? What if S is still a hardass about finding out the sex, and I don't want to when the time comes? What kind of stress will pregnancy bring? What if it works and then...it doesn't? God forbid. I just can't even think about that.

What if it doesn't work?

There are just so many unknowns.

Just a comma, just a comma, just a comma, just a comma.....

I'm just so sad

So, so very sad. So guilty. So tired of hating myself and hating my body for what it can't do.

It's just so damn sad.

I'm making brownies

And S is not even home. He would be pissed if he knew.

Dysplasia follow-up was today. It's time for a new ob/gyn.

It's mother's day

And I'm researching infertility counselors. I'm finally ready to get help.

I NEED help.

Your arm breaks, you go to the doctor. Your heart breaks, and who the fuck do you call? I was telling S the other night that, when I first got the call about the prolactinoma, I wanted to call the police. After all, something was majorly wrong and totally out of my control. I just wanted someone to come and fix it; write up a report and tell us who to call in the morning. But no one would have come.

I tell others all the time to be their own advocate for their health. I show up at doctors' appointments armed with an arsenal of paperwork, charts, and questions I've pre-written, typed out and numbered, perfectly double-spaced. Yet, when it comes to my own mental health, I've completely dropped the ball, ignoring the glaring facts for far too long.

I would've recognized the need for help in anyone else, yet I've allowed myself to be trapped in this spiral of sadness. I have reached a point where I don't know how to get out anymore. I feel like I'm drowning all the time. That if I could just get my head above water, I'd be okay. I could float for a bit. But I can't.

So I'm getting help.

I mean, it's not like it could hurt, right?

You don't fuck with the Alamo.

A history lesson from my husband.

Well, I'm still not pregnant.

So, there's that. What the fuck else is new?