The Tragedy

3 Nov

Yesterday I went to check if clomid had worked. It didn’t. I’ve never been so bummed out in my life. I don’t know how to explain it. As if it wasn’t bad enough that your body doesn’t work properly. And after multiple different medications that are supposed to help fix you, they don’t. Now more than ever I want children. Sitting in the waiting room with mothers and their children, most often more than one, really breaks my heart. It hurts. It hurts because they’re all there to check up on their big bellies while I am there flat as ever trying to be fixed. Can they tell I’m not pregnant? I thought to myself. Can they tell that I’m broken and need to be fixed? I’m trying so hard to cover up my tears while walking out but I can’t hold it in. they’re all seeing me walk out with a flat stomach and tears in my eyes, they must know. I can’t stand in front of all of them anymore; I walk to the middle of the building where no one is standing. “Keep it together” I keep telling myself. The tears just roll down uncontrollably. I can’t keep standing here I just want to get out. I can’t be standing next to all these fertile Arab women that probably their main issue is getting pregnant so much. Is it all in my head? The one thing I’m supposed to be doing right as an Arab woman is bearing children. I can’t even do that. I wait for my husband to come upstairs to meet me so I can finish up with the office. I can’t even do it by myself now. We had been waiting for so long to go in that he ran quickly to go sign out of work. He had forgotten to do so when he left at 4. Those few minutes he needed to run and sign out I was called in, given the news that my body still sucks, given my shot prescription and thrown out. These traumatizing few minutes I did without him. With a quick phone call after I’m done, he comes upstairs and sees my blood shot eyes. He can tell something is wrong, but isn’t sure what it is. He grabs my paperwork and helps signs me out. I know he doesn’t get what happening, but he realizes that I need him to do this for me right now. We go downstairs to the pharmacy; I give him my prescriptions and walk around the room trying to dodge the eyes of everyone there. I just can’t stop the tears and I don’t need anyone knowing why. The second the pharmacist reads my prescription and sees me crying, he’ll know that I clearly am broken. I can’t have a baby. How sad is that. While walking around the only isle there, it’s all baby stuff. Really? How ironic. Here I am crying about not being able to have a baby while I’m staring at baby bottles, baby creams and baby wipes. Seriously? It makes me cry even more.

I had also asked the doctor about the diets that I kept reading about. She told me they wouldn’t help me at all because those are meant for people who need to lose weight, and I don’t need to lose any. I feel like more hope is slipping through my fingers. The things that are beyond my control are happening and I just needed one thing that I could do to help change that. Unfortunately there isn’t.

Now I have to take hormone shots. The ones that have FSH in them. The concept of taking a shot for me is too hard to bare. I have been sitting for a few days trying to figure out how to deal with the different knots of feelings inside of me that I just can’t seem to untie and figure out. There is a war happening inside of me on so many different levels that I feel it is almost impossible to solve at this point. I have been forever scarred by my body. I’m 23 years old. I shouldn’t be taking shots. My body shouldn’t have failed me.

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