Yeah, those are alligator tears

My spirit and my body are broken. My back hurts so bad I can't sit, stand or lay comfortably. But hey, the good news is now I can take Extra Strength Tylenol and I can drink alcohol. But, I can't stop crying.

We lost our embryos. The life that we had created. The healthy, teeny, tiny cells that were meant to become our babies in nine months... They're gone.

I had to take the picture of them off my desk and surrender it to my memory box. I couldn't bear to look at it. I organized all the leftover needles, wipes, pens, pills, oils and swabs and put them all in one big bag thinking DH could give it to our clinic and maybe someone else could benefit from it. I gathered all my "fat clothes," including a maternity dress and a couple of maternity shirts I had purchased "just in case" and threw them all into paper sacks to take to Goodwill. I'm sure there's a pregnant woman out there that could really use them. I just can't bear to see anything that will remind me of the past three months.

DH was the one to finally say it outloud. To say that our embryos had died. They were supposed to be our babies. And our babies died. Even though they were only small round circles of cells, they were proof that we could make life. They were our great hope. And now, they are gone.

The pain and sadness I feel is all too familiar. Like the sudden pain and loss I felt when my sister was murdered 10 years ago. Like the aching pain and longing I feel for my dad who passed away three years ago. So much loss. So much death. Life suddenly just ripped away without any notice, and me, left here to try to pick up the pieces; maintain some sort of emotional stability, hang on, move past, stay strong, and live on...

I fully expected us to get bad news back on our beta test. I've always kinda felt like my body was not going to be able to do this. But it still hurts. It hurts a lot.

I'm a bit of a control freak. And it sucks not to have any control of this situation. I come from a pretty long line of stubborn women. And I myself am a feisty, strong-willed, independent woman. I've always been able to "make things happen." But I can't make this happen. No matter how hard I squeeze my eyes shut and stand in the shower begging God, pleading with Allah and offering all kinds of deals to any deity that might be willing to listen. No one is there. No one is standing up for me and saying, "You know what, enough is enough. This woman has been through a lot of crap, let's throw her a bone here."

Burning hot alligator tears pour down my face because I am angry. I am angry that I cannot control my own body; that I cannot command it to work like every other woman's body. I feel alone and I feel bitter.  I feel like I am being mocked, tortured and punished.

The other day I started thinking, "What if the test was wrong? What if the lab made a mistake and sent that gay guy's blood instead of mine? Well of course the results would come back with a big fat zero on the HCG!" I have even fantasized about the doctor calling me and saying they had accidentally switched our results with someone else's. I guess I will maintain a sliver of hope until I actually start bleeding. I've only been off the meds for three days, but I already feel cramping so it will only be a matter of time before the big flow of '11 hits below.

But seriously, I know that this is the end of the road for our IF treatment. My body and our pocketbook can't take it anymore. And frankly, I'm out of patience. I need to move on to something that is a 100% certainty. More on that next blog post. For now,  I have to go back to being angry for just a bit longer.