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About a year ago, in December 2014, I got my period. I was probably pissed about not being able to bone temporarily, but otherwise, I shoved cotton up my vagina and didn't think much about it. I was 29 years old.

By March 2015, I started to suspect I was pregnant. I hadn't gotten my period since December. That's weird, right? And I was gaining weight. Too many late nights drinking cheap beer and eating pizza. But I could definitely be pregnant, I thought. I peed on four sticks.

All negative.

So I did what any self-respecting woman would do and went to Planned Parenthood. The nurses there made me feel like a neurotic, paranoid piece of shit. They rolled their eyes at me. They told me there was nothing wrong with me. They did some thyroid tests. People go three months without periods all the time, they said.

By June, I knew better. I went to a proper OB-GYN. He tested my FSH and egg stores. On June 10, 2015 -- one day before my 30th birthday -- he called and ruined my life.

A "normal" FSH level for someone my age is around 6-7. At menopause, your FSH goes up to about 20. Mine was 52. On top of that, I had almost no viable eggs left. My egg stores were so low that they weren't even registering. Also, I only have one ovary and fallopian tube (I had ovarian torsion at age 23 on a fluke and lost the other side). My remaining fallopian tube has no cilia to pull the sperm through to the ovary. In other words, any chance I have at busting the condom and getting knocked up is over.

I can't even begin to explain what getting news like that is like. People would say things to me like, "well at least you don't have cancer!" and "maybe you weren't meant to have kids!"

They can go fuck themselves. I feel like a part of me died that day.

I have always dreamed of being a mother. To say we were "lower middle class" when I was a kid is pushing it. We were white trash. My family was fucked up from the jump. My mom and dad divorced when I was two and for years they wouldn't stop screaming at each other. I never had the comfortable, loving family I always dreamed of. I always wanted to come home from school with the smell of chocolate chip cookies in the air, with mom doting on me and helping with homework.

But I was different from my family. I was the first person in my clan to go to college. I have built a "successful" career. And my dream ever since I was a little girl was to be a mother. My dream was to give my child hugs, love and the smells of chocolate chip cookies.

And at 30 years old, just when I'm finally ready to embark on that journey, my dream has been snatched from me.

In the months since June 10, 2015, I have visited Reproductive Endocrinologists. I have had my veins pricked about a million times. I have paid thousands of dollars for them to figure out "da fuq" is wrong with me. And this is what we know:

• I am 30 years old 
• I am in pre-menopause or what they call "POI" (premature ovarian insufficiency) 
• They suspect I was born this way but they don't know for sure because my other ovary died in early 2009 
• I can't do IUI, IVF or any other fertility treatment with my own ovary 
• If my eggs were viable, it'd be gravy because my genes look pretty fuckin fantastic 
• My only option is to have a baby thru IVF with an egg donor 
• Thankfully, I have a beautiful "uterus" 

I'm getting married on July 9, 2016 to a pretty excellent dude. We're going to go skiing through the Andes, drink amazing Malbec and party our faces off in Santiago de Chile and Buenos Aires on our honeymoon. And then we're going to come back to Southern California and find a perky 25-year old blonde to give us some of her eggs. 

My 2016 new years' resolution is to get knocked up. I want a positive piss stick AT LEAST by December 23, 2015 -- one year from today. 

So that's what this blog is going to be about: my journey through infertility, our journey to get pregnant. 

There's a lot more to write. A lot more to say about my still fragile emotions. A lot to say about the substance abuse-filled summer I endured after hearing with the news. A lot to say about the $40-fucking-thousand-dollars it's going to cost us to have our child. A lot to say about the way people and doctors have treated me. A lot to say about how amazing my fiance is. A lot to say about the hope I still have in my heart. 

I'm not your typical infertility blogger if you can't tell. I didn't want to name this blog "Dreaming of Babies" or "One Future Mommy" some other corny shit. 

Let's be honest: Infertility Sucks Balls.