I have been meaning to write this post for awhile. Periods, they suck. A lot. My period was always just an annoyance. Something that happened every month like clockwork. Normal aches and pains. Nothing to write home about. After my IF diagnosis that changed. They were a reminder. A reminder that I was broken. Even though they were always on time, 28 days long, almost always starting on a Wednesday night, the system was broken. I ovulated on day 14. It was just the way it was supposed to be. Which really only added insult to injury.
Even though I was still nursing exclusively and pumping because of an over suppy my period started again at 9 months post partum. Super fun. They aren’t as perfect, time wise, but that are getting back into the swing of things.
Right now I’m sitting with a heating pad on my abdomen because I’m ovulating. I can feel the sharp pains of the egg bursting out. The diseased egg with no where to go. Floating around, just to be reabsorbed or become part of the mess of endometriosis occupying my midsection. It makes me want to cry. Sure, it is possible that one of the eggs my cyst covered ovaries holds could produce a baby. But I’ll never know. And I’m not prepared to do countless cycles to find it. So I’ll just mourn the loss.
I always thought that the sadness I would feel from using donor eggs would be because my son didn’t have my nose or my eyes. So far that hasn’t been the case. All I feel when I notice these differences is the gratitude that he is here. He is part of the world. Despite my broken body, I was able to carry him and bring him into this world. My sadness comes from processing my diagnosis, my inability to produce without serious medical intervention.
So when my period rolls around or I have sharp stabbing pains in my ovaries, it just makes me sad. Sad that my body still goes through this farce. I am grateful that things work just well enough to allow me to carry a baby but I can’t help the sadness and disappointment.