What a difference a few days makes. And some sleep. And some wine. And the glorious news that you've ovulated and will be spared the indignity of the dildocam and the annoyance of blood letting for at least a few weeks.
I feel better. I feel a little less like I'm drowning under the weight of the news the good doctor delivered after the HSG. I'm not particularly optimistic, not just yet (and maybe never), but I'm starting to feel slightly less icky, for lack of a better word.
Because believe me, it's pretty icky to find out that so many things are wrong when so many things have already gone so very, very wrong. It's icky news to have to tell your darling husband who wants a child as much as you do, and it's icky news to have to deliver to hopeful, anxious, wide-eyed family members who are waiting for blessed news to arrive on angels' wings.
It's icky all 'round. It's actually pretty shitty, as a matter of fact.
But it's done. Everyone knows the score and hopefully things will return to business as usual as I quietly go about trying not to think too much about getting pregnant and not getting pregnant while feeling so frustratingly broken.