Advent

I wish each of you a happy and joyous holiday season, whether you've already celebrated E'id, the Solstice or whether you're awaiting the beginning of Kwanzaa, Channukah, or Christmas, or even Festivus.

And even if you don't celebrate any particular holiday, I wish you happiness and love.

I hope your homes are full of warmth, love, laughter, health and good fortune and that you find peace in your heart.

As you know, I didn't cycle with medication this month because I was sidelined due to overstimulation after the IUI. I'm now onto day 34. Thirty-fucking-four. Considering that Michael was sick with a lung infection for the majority of this past month, we only had sex a handful of times, none of which were around the time of ovulation - if it occurred at all this cycle. I am desperately trying not to hold out hope for a Christmas miracle - as after all this time, I should know better. And to face the truth, the chances of me being knocked up are probably statistically somewhat less than the recurrence of immaculate conception. And let's be honest - immaculate conception is a *bit* doubtful in the first place (no offense to my devout Christian readers). And to say that is more credible than me being pregnant is well a bit telling, no?

I left a somewhat quizzical message on the R.E.'s answering service around thirty minutes ago about it being normal to be late the month after cycling with injectibles and the nurse called me back almost immediately. Our conversation went like this:

April: "Is it normal to be this late the month after cycling?
Nurse: "It's possible, but usually we see patients with a very short cycle after a failed medicated cycle. Have you used any form of birth control this month?"
April: "Well aside from our raging infertility, uh... no."
Nurse: "What day are you on?"
April: "At least day thirty-four - maybe up to day 36"
Nurse: "Don't you always spot before your period?"
April: "Yes, at least three to five days before. That's why I was on the progesterone supplementation"
Nurse: "Are you having any spotting or cramping?"
April: "No, to both."
Nurse: "Have you tested yet?"
April: "Two days before Christmas, are you crazy? No."
Nurse: "Are you taking progesterone?"
April: "No."
Nurse: "Test. And I'll schedule your HCG on Tues. a.m. so we can see where you are."
April: stunned silence
Nurse: "O.k. see you Tuesday morning at 10, and Merry Christmas!!!"

Now, I appreciate the excited enthusiasm of someone who is rooting for me. It feels good for someone to have hope when I find it so woefully excised from my own heart. But I'm a fairly intelligent woman and after nearly three years of trying, I'm not bitter, I'm realistic. I realize I'm probably late from my body being whacked out due to my hormones being a bit wonky still.

But there is still a very small part of me that keeps hoping I can put those little monkeyface booties under the tree this year.

And I hate myself for holding onto that sliver of hope. Hate - hate - hate it.

I hate waiting almost as badly.