Failure times six

The call came yesterday, around 2:40 p.m.; not one of the three transferred eight-cell eggs had latched on and I was most certainly not pregnant.

I'm already past disappointed and have moved right on into fierce anger at my body and its inability to do anything right. Anything! I can't find a job, have a child or live my life in any way that seems worthwhile. I'm an utter fuck-up. And everything I try to do to rectify the situation only acts as fuel on the fire.