tears and cocktails

My IUI failed.

I decided I would test early this morning before my 8am beta. So, per usual on the mornings I’m going to test, I couldn’t sleep. I woke up before 4am, needing to pee, knowing I needed to save the pee to test, and instead tossed and turned until I couldn’t take it anymore. I shook my husband and said, “it’s time.”


That single line against the stark white background was a punch in the gut. I let out a slow, whiny, “nooooooo….” before crawling back into bed and letting the tears slowly creep down my cheeks.

I-can’t-do-this-anymore, I-can’t-do-this-anymore, I-can’t-do-this-anymore, maniacally swirled in my head after I laid back in bed. Every emotion that I’ve felt during this entire journey smacked me in the face. It didn’t matter how “braced for disappointment” I was during my 2ww. It didn’t matter that this was just our second month trying since the last miscarriage. I was devastated.

I laid awake for a few more hours. I stared at the ceiling. I stared at my phone. I tried holding my husband, then tried cuddling my dog. Every so often I’d cry softly into the pillow. At 7am my alarm needlessly went off, and I got dressed and left for my blood draw. At 3pm I was standing in the middle of BevMo buying wine with my husband when I got the call from the nurse. Her apologetic tone when she said my name was all I needed to hear. I hung up, flustered, choking back tears, and muttered “get whatever you want I don’t care about wine”, to my husband and sat and waited in the car. 

Later in the day, in an effort to lift our spirits, my husband and I decided to get a happy hour cocktail in an outdoor park in Beverly Hills. I tried to let the sunny LA weather soothe my heavy heart. I tried to be tough and forward-thinking. I tried laughing.

But the cocktail tasted terrible to me.

I resented the alcohol.

The drink I ordered was called The Fortuna. “Oh!” the waitress said, “Let me tell you about this drink! It comes with a wakamomo peach! It looks like an olive but it’s not, it’s sweet! You are supposed to make a wish before you eat it! Don’t forget to make a wish!”

Please don’t tell me to make a wish when I’m on the brink of crying, a lump lodged in my throat, tears ready to glisten my eyes. When I’ve already been wishing so hard, everyday, for that one thing. When I just found out my biggest wish did not come true….Ok fine, I’ll eat your peach, and I’ll wish again and again. I’ll never stop wishing.

the cocktail i never wanted to be able to have.

the cocktail I never wanted to be able to have.

Later when I went to the restroom, I ran smack into the ultrasound technician from my OB’s office. The woman who has repeatedly given me devastating news. I had run into her once before in Trader Joe’s, a few weeks after my second miscarriage.  I hid in the cereal aisle before she saw me. I couldn’t face her. I couldn’t see her and not be reminded.

“I know you!” she said to me today.

“Yeah, I’m a patient of Dr. Brown’s…” I replied hesitantly.

She looked at me for another second, nodded, and walked away.

Did she remember? Did she remember the three times I’ve been in her cold, dark room, with tears streaming down my face? Did she remember when I could barely speak, could barely look at my husband, could barely even put my pants back on after hearing the news? Does she remember hugging me, trying to console me when I was inconsolable?

I remember.

I will always remember.

46 thoughts on “tears and cocktails

  1. I am so sorry. I had my fingers crossed for you. It never gets easier. It should have worked. It is so frustrating. Again, I am so sorry. Get off that progesterone immediately. Its not nice. I hope this weekend helps you recover. My heart goes out to you and your hubby. Your time will come soon. But not soon enough. Hugs.


  2. So so sorry. It is so hard to keep getting bad news and be expected to just go on, isn’t it? So very unfair. I always resented alcohol too. Thinking of you and hoping the cloud of darkness passes quickly.


  3. I’m so sorry hon. I remember feeling the same way after our failed IVF in Feb. I got the call from the clinic confirming what I already knew while I was out with my SIL for lunch (who was pregnant with her 3rd). I ordered a really strong margarita, but then realized I was drinking alone and couldn’t swallow past the lump in my throat. Everything we had been through in the past 4 years came crashing in around me too and there was my SIL with her 30 week bell, who didn’t even have try, across the table from me. It was so hard for me to go on and continue to hope at that point, but I’m so glad I did. Sending you strength and hope to keep going too hon. I truly believe your rainbow is coming. Hugs sweetie ❤️


    • Thank you so much for your sweet words. Yesterday I actually went to your blog and reread your timeline and some of your old posts to help me find strength. You are such an inspiration for me. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to learn of the failed IVF cycle, but seeing all you’ve been through and where you are now made me feel like I could get through this too. Thank you again for always being so supportive. Hugs ❤


      • I’m so glad my blog/story helped renew your hope hon. This is not it for you, I just feel it. Stay strong hon ❤ And thank you for all your support too!


  4. I am sorry for what you are going thru. Trying after a miscarriage seems like it comes with more disappointment when you get that negative. I know its frustrating and sometime you just want to give up but stay strong and know that you have tons of support here. I will be praying for you.


  5. It felt weird to “like” this post but I find your writing so moving and, at times, like you’re in my head. I’m so sorry for the negative. The disappointment is the hardest thing, just as hard as the waiting. Be kind to yourself, let out the hurt, and try and regain the strength to keep going (((hugs)))


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