You know, I knew that IVF drugs would suck, but I had no idea that roaming around the grocery store that I don't usually shop at, and not finding the shredded Parmesan that I ordinarily like to buy, would make me burst into tears.
And the weight gain. I perused about 50 blog entries about the weight gain, so there's no need for me to add to the litany of anecdotal research on the topic. But can I just say FUCK ME. This is ridiculous. Who eats about 1300-1400 calories a day and gains three pounds in two weeks? This insane person who evidently cries all the time, that's who.
I keep telling myself if this FET doesn't work well, it's ok, I have three more PGS-screened embryos on ice. But fuck me, I can't even bring my brain there right now. I mean, sure I am expecting this whole thing to not only fail, but fail spectacularly.... like maybe I will get a BFP and carry another doomed baby for 10 weeks. That seems like something that would happen to me.
The only thing in my experience that eliminates these negative feelings is dancing. A particularly ass-shaking zumba class, or even better a ballet class where I'm turning fast across the floor. Those things get me out of my head. And I will have those crutches for about two more weeks.
Which makes the coming weeks even more ominous. I've been told in no uncertain terms, no zumba after transfer. And with some uncertainty, no ballet. Well I don't meditate. And yoga? No. I've never had an edorfin rush in my life from yoga, it's not about to start now. Walking. I can walk to oblivion and yeah, I'm sure no one ever thinks about life or dead babies when they're walking.