I'm going to try and journal my way through this on my blog. If you knew me "in real life" you'd be shocked at how ultra private I am. I don't share much about myself with others. I put on a happy face and do what I have to do. The thought of faking my way through this pain seems unbearable and impossible but I know that I will do it perfectly, as always. I know this forced stoicism makes me come off as cold to people that barely know me but that's the best I can do lately.
That's one of the issues that makes infertility so painful. It's private pain. There may be select people in our lives that know but most of us don't walk around with the infertility badge on our arm. We cry to sleep at night - we excuse ourselves to the restroom when something hits us publicly to gather our composure and we come back out with the pain tucked away in it's place until we're alone again.
This is a private pain because others simply can not understand. They give terrible unsolicited advice. They judge our actions. They don't understand why we can't find the bright side and move on.
Last night was hard. It was a night unlike any my husband and I have had before. We lay in bed and I sobbed. Part physical pain and part heart pain. He held me and for the first time - with a deep sense of sadness and desperation in his voice said "We can't do this again. We can't do this to you again." That's a great husband - because - inside his heart is breaking, too. His dream has been shattered as well. He has shed tears and every one cuts my soul like a knife - I just want to be able to make him happy.
My husband is still holding out hope though. He hasn't said it but I can see it in his eyes. He's still hoping that Monday there will be a miracle and the ultrasound will show a sac with a heartbeat. I know this can not happen. After all that we've been through - the one thing I know for sure is that I am not on God's Miracle List.