Numb

I'm not smoking. I'm not drinking alcohol. I'm not drinking coffee or tea, unless it's decaffeinated. I don't polish my nails. I don't take sugar substitutes. I'm not eating junk food. I'm not stressing. I'm not having sex. I'm not being defeated. But still, my numbers on Friday were:
hCG: 38
Progesterone: 8
That's bad. Very bad. I haven't started experiencing any symptoms yet, but that means that I am going to have my fourth miscarriage in less than one year. That means that all the temperature taking, all the pills (vitamins, progesterone, levothyroxine). all the OPKs are worth nothing. Absolutely nothing. Because at the end of the day, I probably won't have a baby. I still say probably because the nurse didn't dare say yay or nay (I quote her literally). And I don't want to shed that little last drop of hope. But that's the optimist in me. The realistic, rational Ana knows that this is done. Now what? I don't know.
I have heard all types of consolations. I have friends who tell me not to worry, that it will work next time (which I also heard the first, second and third time). I have friends trying to convince me that an only child is the best thing that can happen to you. I have friends trying to convince me to go the IVF/ embryo selection road. I have friends telling me to stop trying altogether. I have friends who don't know what to say. And I have a couple of friends who totally get it. Because they have been in place very similar to the one I am in now. I guess the good part is that I have lots of friends. The bad one is that none of them will become my baby.
I am very thankful of U2 for writing the song that gave me the title for this post, included in their album Zooropa. It makes me feel a little better. Not too much, but at least a little.