In this space, there was going to be an announcement proving just how fucking efficient I am: One round of fertility treatments = one awesome baby. He/She had a due date of October 24th.
Instead it's an update from my local hospital emergency room. I was feeling crampy off and on all day, and was worried enough about it to call my midwife this afternoon. She told me not to worry about it unless I started bleeding. So I didn't. I was getting ready for bed when it started. The cramping has gotten worse in the time I have been here. I haven't been seen yet, but I'm pretty sure I know what they're going to tell me. I think we all know what they're going to tell me.
When I get out of here I'm going to go home and hug the one I've got with everything I have. I'm not sure I've got the fortitude for another round of treatments, so The Parasite might be an only child. As I sit in these harsh, fluorescent lights, surrounded by the sounds of people dealing with their own shit, I can tell myself that it's OK. But I'm pretty sure that tomorrow I'm going to think it's really, really not.
