There comes a point when you need to remind yourself why you’re doing it. Looking down at three syringes full of hormones, I empathetically did not want to inject them into my belly today. I feel wretched. Annoyed at Zee for not being able to work out the doses himself, despite us doing the stims every day for the last week. Annoyed at myself for being so wretched and grumpy, and even more at him for being gracious and kind to me.
Tonight was the first tears. I hate this bit. The emotional all over the place, in control of nothing feelings. My body, it doesn’t feel like my own at this point. And I know, looking down a the syringes that these hormones are only going to make it worse. That it will hurt. That I will feel tender and sore and will cry, as I hold tightly on to Zee, willing it to be over.
It burns after. A tight, hot burn around the injection site. It’ll burn a while, while I’m trying to sleep.
It’s hard at this point to not feel resentful. Of people who can have children without IVF, and the £30k price tag. Of my body, for being so very broken. Of the entire world, because this is HARD and it HURTS. I’m trying to remember that my body is being injected full of hormones every night, and so perhaps I’m not on the most even of keels right now.
This is hard. It hurts, and I’m super emotional. My chance at a family are worth this, I’m sure of it. I’m fuelled with hope, but I’m not very good at suffering graciously or in silence. Its hard, and it hurts.