Underwater

Unfortunately, your test was negative.

— Every Nurse Who Calls Me After A Beta Test Ever

I can't believe I'm back here again: another failed transfer.

How does it take so long to get to OTD (official testing day) and yet, I barely blinked and I've already got another failed transfer under my belt. Another so-called healthy embryo gone. Did it ever have a chance?

I know I shouldn't take it personally, but I feel like such an idiot. I was truly optimistic as my "symptoms" flared up the first couple of days post-transfer. I felt twinges and bloating and all the screwed up wonderful things we all want. But as those crampy pangs wavered, my anger radiated to my fingertips like a poison. Was it the progesterone gaslighting me? Is that why I wanted to flip over the kitchen table? Or did I instinctively know something was wrong? I'm not sure.

I continued to talk to my belly desperately. Please stay. I love you so much.

I googled so hard that I think I actually sprained my pinkies.

Crazy McCrazyton (me)

As I felt myself sinking into acceptance, I started obsessively googling symptoms on my phone looking for a lifeline. Oh, look! There's a lady in New Zealand who felt no symptoms and she was so sad because she thought she was out, but then she took her Beta test and she was actually super pregnant and she went on to have a healthy pregnancy! That could be me, right? I swear to you, I googled so hard that I think I actually sprained my pinkies. Seriously.

And now, between deep episodes of sobbing, I drift into a dark numbness. I really want to believe in fate or a higher power or science or anything right now, but I can't seem to find the light. There's no rhyme or reason to this recurrent pain. Am I being punished? It feels like the universe is holding my head underwater.