Running Out of Time

Not to be a raincloud or anything but...

This morning I made my most dreaded gyn appointment yet.  It's not the worst because of the annoying exam.  It will be the worst because of the conversation I'm going to have with my doctor.  The one that says we've been trying to conceive for a year with no success.

Is there a lighter, happier way to say the same thing?  How about we're having trouble getting pregnant? Any better?  Not by much.

There's something about this point.  And that something is the realization that we will be classified as infertile if I get Aunt Flo the first week of December.

Infertility.  Isn't that supposed to be reserved for people going through menopause?  People that have their reproductive organs altered?  Folks with severe diseases?  Nope.  It can affect the young and healthy.  I never thought we would get to this point, though the fear was always there and multiplied every month we were let down.

With God's help, I'm trying to stay faithful.  The optimistic part of me is saying We still have time.  There are plenty of couples that conceive during month 12.  The other, less optimistic part is saying This is it.  We're about to enter the world of testing and treatment, drugs and injections, poking and prodding.


We are down to the wire and I honestly don't know how we got here.  We had timed intercourse instead of just having random sex for a whole year.  I'm looking forward to getting some answers.  But I'm more hopeful that Aunt Flo doesn't arrive and we can confirm a pregnancy during that visit.

Praying for two pink lines.