Warning... this is not a happy post.
CD1 arrived... in the middle of mass... this past Sunday... on the Feast of St. Gerard. Lovely.
Later that evening I had a wonderful sob-fest on my DH's shoulder (seriously, he is a saint to put up with me), after reading about yet another person who had Crohn's disease who essentially cured it by DIET. Not by steroids (though she had been on LOADS of them, just like me), not by having her colon removed, but by DIET. That's it. So cheap (well, except that organics and a gluten and dairy free diet are not particularly cheap which is what I'm doing now), and so simple. Why, oh why, wasn't I more persistent? Why did I just accept the doctor's answer when he said there are no links? How can there NOT be??? If you're putting something in your body that your body doesn't like, OF COURSE there will be a reaction. And it certainly makes sense that if it's food, your body will react somewhere along the digestive tract. Part of me knows (and DH said this too) that I did the best I could at the time, but the word that just kept coming to me on Sunday night was failure. I'm failing in what is supposed to come so naturally. If it weren't for my colectomy, I probably wouldn't have so much trouble conceiving. My hormone levels are good now. CM is usually pretty good (some cycles not so much, others it's great). But all the adhesions... my uterus fused to the back of my abdominal wall. The tubes and ovaries buried in a mass of adhesions. For 6 YEARS before I got married and tried to conceive. I was so utterly clueless. And... I just feel like such a failure.
I used to thank God all the time for my surgery because I was so sick before. And I was so happy not to be going to doctors offices every few weeks. Little did I know... it wasn't really a cause for rejoicing. It was only going to give me more YEARS of grief. I would laugh at the irony of it all, except it's not funny any more. Not at all.
Yesterday, CD2 had me running late for mass (I slept in because really, all I want to do is stay in bed and be miserable), missing communion because we have a new pastor who doesn't yet know me (our previous one was really kind in whenever I would be late (which I try very hard not to be) he would have one of the servers get the extra chalice). So... no communion for me. And I just started crying... pretty much the whole mass. Trying very hard not to make it obvious. Afterwards, I planned to wait a little longer than usual so the church would be really cleared out before I left, and a old lady came up to me to tell me I could go receive communion after mass... I really wanted to yell at her! A sweet little old lady! IF I CAN'T RECEIVE THE HOST DURING MASS, WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I CAN RECEIVE IT OUTSIDE MASS?! Fortunately, I didn't yell that at her, I just told her I wasn't feeling well, and hoped she would go away. But I wasn't very kind.
I hate the person that I become when IF rears its ugly head. And I feel powerless to stop it.
At the post office, this morning (after I took a pregnancy test to make sure I'm "not" pregnant before taking the Letrezole- ha!) I dropped off some final papers for our SW for the home study. On my way out, a lovely and VERY pregnant woman was standing at the self-mailer. Seriously? Why couldn't it have been an old man with a cane or something? I arrived home and pulled into the driveway only to have my neighbor getting out of her car with her BRAND NEW baby. Yeah... it's obviously going to be one of those weeks.
I feel like St Theresa... "If this is how you treat your friends, Lord...."
Maybe in a few days, I'll take this post down. It's so depressing. Ugh. I sure hope it blows over soon.