Rock bottom.

I don't know how fertility nurses do it. Half of their job is to deliver you bad news. I guess it must be the half that provides hope.

I got the call with about 30 minutes left in the day.
Another one of our test results came in off the deep end of the spectrum. 
It came back to far on the bad side that they said our chances of IVF success rate were not high enough and they wouldn't recommend doing it.

Luckily we have a great doctor and nurse combination that didn't make me feel like my world was crashing down. Luckily I was at work and had to keep myself together.

Luckily I waited until I go into my car to cry. I had to tell my husband the terrible results and terrible news. The poor guy has been through so much in his life, losing both parents before age 25, that I felt twice the heart break. He has thick skin because he's been through so much. Skin so thick that I told him and he just went on about his day. He's so much stronger than I am in this area that I feel bad crying and getting upset about it in front of him.

I looked all around and felt alone. No one wants to hear about sadness. No one wants to hear about infertility. 

I got these terrible results that I had to hold inside (and share on here because let's face it, I don't have any followers). I felt like the grim reaper walking around. I shared the information with one friend who lives across the country and she managed to understand and had flowers delivered to me. 

It's one of those times that you really find out who your friends are, the quality friends: the ones that can look you in the eye and know that something is wrong; the ones that will soak up your tears, the ones that will bring you a bottle of wine and say let's cry this thing out together, the ones that will bring over your favorite movie for a laugh, the ones that are across the country and still send you a hug over the phone--it's those ones that count.

Maybe this is my silver lining--finding out who's real.

As I throw myself this pity party and my cup of coffee catches my tears, I tell myself to get over it and stop feeling bad for myself. I try to run away from this ominous rain cloud and into the sunshine.

Maybe now I can spend the rest of my life traveling the world, living carefree on an adventure.
Maybe now I can start my own business and work those long hours establishing myself without worrying about missing out on my kid's events.
Maybe not I can workout and get into great shape.

The maybes fulfill me for a brief time before my world crashes down on me.
I need time to grieve. I need to process this experience. Most of all, I need to move on.