I got my period yesterday, pretty much right after my appointment with my doctor.
This sucks.
I try not to dwell on the what-ifs or the could-have-beens, but every month I get really, really depressed around this time. Especially right now after that “official” infertile diagnosis with my ob/gyn. I know it’s silly, but in the back of my mind I was thinking, “What if she’s wrong? This could be the month!”
And then, boom. Off to buy tampons again.
I feel like I’ve been living my life two weeks at a time. I get super depressed every month when my period hits. It’s not like it’s a surprise, either. My cycle is pretty much like clockwork, and every month it behaves the exact same way. I should be used to it by now.
Every cycle, I’ll spot for 2 days, and then for the 1-2 days after that, nothing. Then I’ll get bright red flow on the 3-4th day, which will last for a day or two. Then I’ll maybe spot for a day or so after that, and it’s gone. It’s been doing this for as long as I’ve been keeping track.
Which means I really should have known something was up when I had the miscarriage. Whups.
Every month, even though I should know better, I get my hopes up. The spotting hits, and then everything vanishes day or two later. Those “clear” days are brutal. I’m filled with a ton of hope…maybe the red flow won’t come this time! Maybe the spotting was implantation again, or just normal early-pregnancy spotting. And then, every month, my hopes are crushed when I see red, and I’m not a pleasant person to be around for a couple of days.
When the cloud lifts, I’m filled with a renewed hope – waiting for ovulation, using those test strips, monitoring everything and, uh…playing…with my husband. Wink.
Then I ovulate. Two dark, solid lines on a test strip, and I’m super excited. THIS is the month! Forget the past! We’ll make a baby this month! I start symptom spotting, checking every pregnancy site out there, thinking up baby names and fun ways to tell Quincy we finally did it, and count down the days in that two week wait.
And then..she arrives again. Rinse and repeat. It’s a roller coaster of really exciting highs, and really devastating lows. Luckily, the lows only last a day or two each month, so I should be better by tomorrow. It’s just hitting me harder than normal right now because of that stupid diagnosis yesterday.
My Stork Got Lost 