And I seem to be working through the cycle of grief in a text book manner:
After the first IUI there was denial - or disbelief. "This can't be right," I thought as I peered for a non-existent line. Because I had known it would work, remember? I was convinced this would be it, and now a stick of plastic wrapped around a scrap of litmus paper has the audacity to try and tell me otherwise?
After the fail of my second IUI I wasn't just angry. I was furious. It wasn't fair, hadn't I done everything I could? I had spent a fortune on alternative therapy, not drunk booze, given up my tea. I love tea more than wine, but it was gone (and spoilt forever, I tried a proper cuppa the other day and had to throw it away due to the cloying milkiness that I use to love). But even that managed to do fuck all.
OK to be fair the bargaining happend just before the last negative.
On the morning of the 23rd, I felt the familiar hip-ache and stomach cramping that, for the twenty odd years I have been having them, signified the onset of my period.
It made sense, sure it was two days earlier than I expected but the same thing had happened last time I had a trigger shot.
All that remained was to pull on the black granny pants, fill my bag with every absorbent material known to man and go into work, and wait.
But then nothing. Hmm ... how can I write this in a way that won't spoil your turkey sandwiches?
I had a quick consultation with Dr Google and discovered, implantation bleeding can happen as late as day 12, and it can be accompanied with period-like cramping.
And that is when the bargaining started. Except it was not really bargaining as, being a heathen, I had no one to bargain with, and having given up pretty much every vice already I had nothing left to bargain with. So instead my bargaining consisted of me sitting on the ceramic throne whispering "pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease" as I checked and double checked that there was still nothing that could be decently called a period.
It was that evening, when I was out with my sister that I nipped to the loo and any pretense of implantation was shattered.
So what have I got to look forward to?
Depression and then, apparently, acceptance.
Unless, things actually start working in the new year.