Negatory Ghost Rider

I have been with my husband for nearly ten years. We dated for about four and we’ve been married for six. In that span of a decade (that sounds crazy to write), I have seen him cry only three times. The first time came on our wedding day when I walked down the aisle. I know this may sound cheesy, but that moment was pretty awesome and he was all teary-eyed. The second time came when his grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer. She is fine, but she is a central figure in my husband’s life, and he thought she was going to die. We all did. The third time came yesterday afternoon around 3:15pm when I got off the phone with the lab.

I am not pregnant. Little Evie and Arturo decided not to stick around. I am sad. I have cried. I’ve told those closest to me who knew about our second IVF. I am grappling with a swirl of emotions that begins with anger, crashes over to sadness, swings back to frustration, and touches on acceptance. Regardless of where I am in the moment or have been in the last 24 hours, I have learned so much from these last few years of infertility. I know that my husband and I can withstand pretty much anything. I know that I can commit myself to something that is, essentially, out of my control. I know that my close friends and family and even strangers on the internet can and do prop me up during my darkest times. What I don’t know is how we will move forward. I mean, I know we will, but I don’t know what our path to parenthood will be. And, gasp!, if we will really become parents. I don’t say that in a sad, longing way, I just don’t know if I have it in me and my bank account to make it happen. And while that reality can be a bit sucky to come to terms with, I must continue to tell myself that while this infertility bullshit has had a huge impact on my life and where I thought I’d be right now at the ripe old age of 35, I refuse to let it define me or my husband or our marriage or the happiness we have in our life. This is yet one more moment from which to learn, from which to access what we really desire from life.

For now I am throwing all of my hormones and pregnancy lust at my dog. Yes, my dog. She is popping with puppies any day now. Amazing how animals can be there for you when you need them most. She is going to have six puppies. We’ll have a home birth. And one of the pups will stay with us forever. Pretty cool. Will I cry when the pups are born? Yes. Will I cry more than a normal person watching a birth? Probably. But there’s no better medicine for a slightly broken heart than puppies. Lots and lots of puppies.

As usual, I thank you all for reading, supporting, cheering, uplifting when I needed it most. And for reminding this ovary-challenged girl that she is not alone.



20 thoughts on “Negatory Ghost Rider

  1. Oh no… I’m so sorry to hear that.

    You are alarmingly well spoken for it being such a crap day. Amazing and inspiring.

    Wishing you the love of a gajillion puppies. I would lick your face in person if I could.

  2. Oh crap, I’m sorry. I have to say, I can’t imagine anything I wold rather be around during a time like that than some puppies, so I hope they provide you with all the love and comfort in the world during this difficult time. Thinking of you…and please give those puppies big hugs and kisses for me when they arrive…nothing like the love of a dog

  3. I am really so heartbroken for you. It seems so unfair that after all we go through with IVF that it’s even possible not to wind up with a viable pregnancy. I can only imagine that this is the hardest part, that it only gets easier from here. And that somehow, you will move forward. If only because… there’s no other choice. Hugs to you. 😦

  4. Oh no! I’m so sorry to read this. It really suck. Puppy love is the best medicine, something to focus on and care for.

  5. I’m so sorry friend. I got a little teary just imagining what you must be going through. I think that giving your dog lots of extra love is a good idea; that’s what I’d do. ((Hugs))

  6. I’m sorry … I so wish this weren’t the outcome for you. One way or another, you’ll make it through, and surrounding yourself with a batch of fresh little puppies sounds like a great way to help. Take the time you need to grieve and regroup, and the path will become clearer. I admire you for refusing to let this define you and your husband and your relationship. Hugs.

  7. This sentence: “What I don’t know is how we will move forward” is so relatable to every human being. Your strength, honesty, and perseverance is amazing. Love this post and love you!

  8. I’m so sorry, M. I just cried from what you wrote, and my heart opens up for you. You’re so right and wise, though: “This is yet one more moment from which to learn, from which to access what we really desire in life.”

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  10. hi, new reader here! i’m SO sorry to read this – that just plain sucks (even though those words don’t sound bad enough). i can only imagine what you’re feeling, but i hope some cute adorable puppies bring a smile to your face for at least a few minutes!

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