I was so sure that the first round of IUI was going to work, that I never actually prepared for the possibility that it wouldn’t.
I had done some research on PCOS up to that point, and after seeing all of the symptoms, I was convinced that I didn’t have it nearly as bad as most other sufferers. Sure, depression and weight were things that I had struggled with for years, but I had Metformin on my side now.
Metformin is a drug used to control blood sugar in diabetes patients. It’s also used in conjunction to treat PCOS, as it helps to combat insulin resistance. I immediately lost 15 pounds on Metformin, so I was feeling better than I had in a few years. Even before I lost the weight, I wasn’t THAT overweight. I had been flirting with the BMI charts line between overweight and obese for a few years, but if I ever stepped over the line into obesity, I was back in overweight land within a few days. I was convinced that those 15 pounds would make the difference. And losing the 15 pounds made me happier, so I felt like the depression was a bay. Plus, as I stated in my previous post, I had just celebrated my first wedding anniversary. The powers that be would have to reward us with a positive pregnancy test, right?
I treated the day of the test as if it was any other day. I work up early, went in for the blood test and went to work. I found it hard to concentrate as I waited for the call. I wondered what I was going to do when I got confirmation that we were expecting. When my phone rang, I hopped up and headed towards an empty office to answer the phone.
I knew it was negative the minute the nurse said my name. There was just something about the tone of her voice. Not quite pity, but not far from it. I tried to hold back the tears as she told me to stop taking the estrogen and progesterone I had been prescribed to make sure my body was ready for a baby. My voice started to crack with each confirmation I gave to all of the information she was giving me. “Okay. Okay. Okay.” I was informed that I would most likely be getting my period shortly, and to call within the first three days of menstruation if we wanted to try IUI again.
I tried to compose myself so I could go back to work and finish out my day. I sat back down at my desk, but the tears wouldn’t stop. I looked up, hoping that nobody had noticed the complete wreck of a human I was at that moment. My boss was in a meeting, and I didn’t want to interrupt it, but I also knew I couldn’t be there anymore. I walked in on the meeting, and as my boss looked up, his face dropped.
“It didn’t work. I have to go. I can’t be here, ” was the last thing I said before I became completely inconsolable. I gathered my things, called my husband on my way home and drank myself into an afternoon stupor.
I took the next day off to regroup. It was a Friday, so I figured a nice three day weekend would be just what I needed to get my mind centered around trying again. My husband and I decided that a second time couldn’t hurt. I vowed to take even better care of myself for the second round. Not a drop of alcohol, no caffeine. Nothing that pregnant women are supposed to stray away from. Surely, the first time was just a practice run. The second time it would produce a positive pregnancy test.
It had to.