Walter and I had pizza two days ago. It was the first time I grabbed a slice since I've been labeled with PCOS... and I've been throwing up ever since.
In the middle of the night, all hunched over, I almost was smiling as I was 'praying to the porcelain God' because there was a light bulb in my head that screamed, "*GASP* MORNING SICKNESS! Oh PLEASE God let it be morning sickness!!!"...
...then I thought, "No, you dumb idiot, it must be the new medicine you're on. You're not supposed to have carbs and you know it, and now you deserve this sickness... but don't get excited. It is definitely NOT because you are pregnant *insert evil laugh here*"... but I've eaten carbs once before this and I wasn't this way?
...Did I have food poisoning?! Well, no, or else my husband would be right next to me in the same manner (EW), but he is soundly asleep. I know he's a big and tough man, but food positing knows no pride does it?
The worst part of infertility (besides the schizophrenia running through your head all day, second-guessing EVERYthing) is that with all those thoughts you're taken on this rollercoaster of HELL. For a 'planner' like me, that means re-planning your entire life about 16 different times in about 30 minutes... and sometimes you're just too busy cleaning yourself up to lose the hope you carry around with you.