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I got my period.

May 14, 2009

I think whoever named the dot at the end of the sentence a period was someone who struggled with infertility. A period is the end. It is the final point. It is an emphatic statement. It is telling me no, period.  Don’t waste money on a pregnancy test, period. You are not pregnant, period.

A new month. A new cycle. The endometrial lining sheds. The period ensues. The body forgets what the mind cannot, that a child once resided inside. My body, it has moved on.  Body, I appreciate you started a cycle as you were supposed to. This is a feat I don’t recall you ever doing. But body, since you’ve decided to move on, why couldn’t you take the rest of me with you?  This bleeding should comfort me that hope lies ahead, but all it does is remind me of the blood I shed four weeks ago. The little being that left me bereft. The soul that still does not know how to mend.

I feel like pounding my hands on the pavement and yelling to God  I don’t want to be infertile. I tremble with tears and rage. I tremble with fear for my future, this unknown journey. Next cycle is out because my supposed ovulation will occur during my brother’s wedding weekend for which my mother has arranged all the men to stay in hotels and all the womenfolk relatives to invade the home. I laugh at this worry since it took so long to get pregnant, am I really foolish enough to think it will just take one cycle to conceive?

The cramps hurt more. The bleeding is worse. The emotional devestation scorches my soul yet again. I called it my miracle pregnancy. I’ve heard lightening does not strike twice.

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