I went to the doctor to find out that I was fine and had nothing to worry about. I went so she would tell me that my problem is stress and I need to reduce it. I agreed to the tests because I thought they would further the cause that, even though occasionally sluggish, I am healthy as a horse.
I didn't go so she could tell me that I will have trouble getting pregnant.
I didn't go to have the news broken to me over the phone on Valentine's Day without any indication of how long this next part takes.
I am at sea.
I am exhausted.
I am without hope.
I am no longer optimistic.
I am barely getting out of bed.
I will get passed this eventually-- probably even sooner than I think.
In the meantime, here we are.
I'm sorry for the tone of this writing space in the coming months. I just don't have the funny in me right now.