You are like a calm tide in my roiling sea. Thank you for keeping me afloat. I never knew how much I would come to rely upon the kindness of strangers, of strangers who feel like friends.
I was not myself yesterday. Or I was a part of myself that I don't want to believe in.
I was overemotional. I was hopeless. I was so full of self-pity, and helplessness, and shame. Shame for my lack of fortitude, shame for my body's failure, shame for being so wrapped up in this that I could not think of anyone else, even Jeff.
I went in overconfident, believing I would be a follicular overachiever, with my shiny E2 numbers. I did not know that I was an under-responder. I did not know that my doctor, who has been kind and responsive and gentle, had just had his life ruined.*
I came out overwhelmed, overwrought, overly dramatic. I overreacted.
I am sorry. So many of you have borne up under worse news, and I must seem like a dilettante by comparison.
Over all, the news could be worse. I have six eggs. Better than none. I assumed that this poor response meant that the eggs would be bad. Eventually, I stopped shaking and crying, and I started Googling. And it seems that they may be OK. Who knows.
Nothing is lost yet, except what was left of my confidence. Perhaps I don't need it. But you? You, I need.
*He was previously cleared of any wrongdoing in the matter--twice--but the case got a lot of press recently, and, predictably, became politicized, and now his patients will lose, as well as him and his wife and two young children. Some patients and former patients are planning a march in his support; he is much loved, and will be missed.