Life is weird sometimes. We spend the first half of our lives trying not to get pregnant, and the 2nd half trying to get pregnant.
And that’s how I found myself injecting strange chemicals into my belly at 7am in the public bathroom of my fertility clinic, with seconds to spare before my one-hour window ran out. Why they had to schedule my doctor’s appointment within an hour of the exact time I needed to administer the meds was beyond me. After feeling the biting sting of the meds as I pushed down the syringe plunger, I looked down at my watch and sighed with relief. I had made it…for today. Tomorrow, I’d have to do it all over again.
Infertility sucks. And to add insult to injury, this diagnosis came about after I’d finally healed from my childhood trauma and convinced myself that despite having a mom that beat me on a regularly basis, I can in fact be a good mom, and break the cycle of generation trauma. After swearing off having kids, then being on the fence, then finally getting comfortable with the idea, fate had other plans for me.
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