You would think I'd be coping better with one negative. Its not like its a surprise. I knew the odds were not great. I knew success was not guarenteed on the first try. Also there's the small matter of the 20 other failed attempts to reproduce, so I should be used to failure by now. Well, it doesn't help.
Much as my rational mind knows the odds, hope is like a highly addictive drug. I just couldn't help but hope. I saw those two huge follicles on the screen. In spite of what all the doctors say, I figured that my retroverted uterus was to blame, and as soon as the sperm got taxi sevice past the confusing cervix we'd be home free. I really wanted it to work this time. I wanted all those tests that showed I was healthy to be proven right.
That's not the worst part, though. Remember the scary dream from a few entries ago, the one where I saw an ultrasound where I was pregnant with twins but lost them? Yes, well, as stupid as it sounds I believed in those twins. I wanted them to be real so that I could at least have the opportunity to not lose them. In my imagination they were two little boys. (Warren's family is almost all boys, so we're most likely to have boys.) My fantasy included making a tiny dark green sweater to go with the tiny dark red one I already have tucked away so that I could dress them in the same outfits, just with different colors. I knew it was foolish all along, but I wanted it so much.
For a girl with a science degree I'm not doing so well in the rationality department, which may be why I'm taking it so hard. Since my period has still not arrived (no doubt due to the progesterine gel -- hey, at least that stuff works), I keep thinking that maybe the beta was wrong. Maybe the lab messed it up. Maybe it worked after all. I know that's highly unlikely, but I just can't help it. The rational side and the hopeful side are beating each other up in here and if I could see what they looked like they'd both be covered in green and purple bruises like the one on my elbow.