Tomorrow, our only hope gets transferred into my uterus. And I can’t sleep. For the second night in a row. It’s 3am, and my internal search engine keeps running without any answers.
Will lack of sleep affect implantation? Am I destining myself for failure? Am I making my heart beat that fast? Or is it the prednisone? Or the giant shots in the ass we’ve been giving me every night? How long can one person go without more than 2 hours sleep? If this affects my chances, how do women with infants get pregnant? Better yet, how does anyone ever get pregnant at all? Am I working too much? Have I taken on too much? Am I not working enough? Do I need more of a distraction? Am I going to look back and wish I hadn’t been working so hard at all? Did I fuck everything up with that piece of dark chocolate? Is everyone going to freak out about me not drinking this weekend? Will I be able to handle the assumptions they make? Will I even make it to the weekend, or will time stand still like this forever? Will the embryo fall out into my underpants? Into the toilet? Is it even safe to go number 2? Safe to move? Safe to cough? Safe to breathe? Will the doctor call me tomorrow and tell me there is no embryo? That they lost it? That they messed it up? That this was all a misunderstanding? Can I handle 9 more days and nights like this? 12 whole weeks? 9 whole months? Can I handle not having to handle 12 whole weeks? 9 whole months? Will it wreck me forever?
Tomorrow, our only hope gets transferred into my uterus. And I can’t help but think that it’s the most dangerous place it could be.