I know I should have patience, but the fact of the matter is I can't. I see my birthday as a dream-shattering landmark day. I don't anticipate having many more months of trying, although people tell me to keep the faith. If I am capable of getting pregnant, I will again be pregnant soon.
But I keep seeing the time slip away from me, and I wonder, how many eggs are in there, waiting to be released? Harsh as it may seem, every period feels like a bloody mess of a sign that another one has passed me by.