The third time is not the charm

I got up yesterday and went to the hospital lab to get my blood work done. And as I waiting for the tech to draw blood, my heart was pounding. This was it -- this is as close as I've gotten since I started this last August to actually being pregnant. Once the blood was drawn and I had a Scooby-Doo band-aid on my arm, there was nothing more to do. But wait.

I spent the morning at Jill's house, helping her unpack books for her new book shelf. And she got in the mood for the Super Bowl, by watching the history of the Giants on DVD. She was a good sport and we watched the '58 championship game against the Colts (even though the Giants lost that game) and she had me tell her stories about all the Colts as they showed them on screen. It was fun -- it was a quick visit into my old life.

And then as it got past noon, I started to get anxious. "I need to go home." I didn't want to miss the phone call from Jodi. I didn't miss it -- she called about 1:30. "I'm afraid I don't have very good news for you." And so it began again.

I didn't know what to feel, I didn't know what to do. Do I call everyone in my phone book who knew today was the day? Or do I just wait for them to ask? I called the two people I specifically told I would call, and let anyone else who was interested call me. Other than my mom and my neighbor, there were no other calls.

By 6:30, I was feeling sorry for myself, and alone -- no one cares about me. Yes, it was a big of thinking only about myself, but I felt like everyone else was so wrapped up in their lives that they weren't even thinking about me today.

There's so much to think about now. Do I want to go through this again? I'll have to have a stronger dose of the Clomid next month, which will mean more weight gain and more emotions. I don't think this weekend is the time to make this decision. Should I just say fuck it? Should I seriously look into adoption? Do I really want to start someone's new life with their mommy $20,000 in debt with adoption costs?

I had a dream last night. I was holding a baby, my baby. He or she was about 9 months old, I think it was a boy. He said "momma" when I picked him up. I'm still too numb to read anything into the dream, but you know, and I know, that I'm not going to say fuck it. I'm too invested to give up.

Wanda said I just need to keep with my plan, and have the back-up plan if this plan doesn't work. And I told her last night, it never occurred to me that this wouldn't work. Never. Even with the ovarian failure diagnosis, there was always hope. My people have babies, my mom was pregnant 14 times for God's sake -- how could my body not be able to do this?

It just seems like a cruel joke the universe is playing on me.