Basket Case
Originally written 5/9/16
Whenever I go to 24 Hour Fitness, I always wash my hands before I leave because 24 is disgusting. Every time I walk into the women's locker room, there is a favorable chance that I will walk in on a middle-aged woman, buck naked walking around. Really? Yes. Just walking around. And it's a different woman every time. It happens 9 out of 10 times. I used to just try and avert my eyes, but now that I am used to it, I get kind of annoyed. Where are you going?! Nowhere. Just walking around aimlessly. There is an area off the main entrance...go be naked there, please.
Just like the annoyance of expecting to see a naked woman in the locker room, I have come to expect unfavorable news and outcomes in our IVF journey. We are at our two year anniversary with our doctor and the only thing our time and money has accomplished is funding his child's future college tuition.
We are on the fail train, hard.
When I went in for our fourth embryo transfer this morning, I was feeling dread.
I did my relaxation and positive visualization (kind of) and then let my defense mechanism or dramatic sarcasm take over. I was texting a friend who also knows this process all too well.
There were several couples there for a transfer and I realized that we were now the veterans of the process...after acting a complete ass the very first time, and arguably, every time.
But the truth is, it's not so funny any more. Not even V putting on the bunny suit is LOLable.
You can only make jokes and funny, self-deprecating comments for so long before you actually have a break down. Which is exactly what I did after the procedure; everything just culminated. Me, the upbeat patient who ALWAYS has a smile on my face for every appointment, broke down and couldn't pretend anymore. I have done a great job these past two years of keeping things together and not letting this take over my life.
It's possible, though, that I am getting tired.
Addendum 6/12/16
There are some very courageous, kick-ass people out there that never feel sorry for themselves. You read about a cancer patient who smiled and was upbeat until the day they died or a disabled person who has never felt sorry for themselves and went out to accomplish amazing things despite their disability.
I am not those people. I want to be and try really hard, but I have had a few too many pity parties of one lately. It only makes me loathe myself, knowing that I am feeling sorry for myself despite everything wonderful that I have been blessed with.
Obviously we miscarried, again.
As we face the decision to possibly kill off the remainder of our embryos (8 seemed like an insane amount when we started) or stumble into another world of surrogacy, we are at the point in this process that I never wanted to reach...a little broken. I would love to tell you that I truly believed all the things I said about "whatever happens, happens" or "as long as they can get here, we don't care how..."... But I only wrote those things because I didn't actually think that I wouldn't be able to do it. Did I think it would be easy? Of course not (well, actually at first, yes) but did I think that it would happen for us eventually? Yes. With every pregnancy announcement, baby shower, and birth, I told myself that maybe someday it will be my turn...that if I was so super patient, maybe it would be my turn to carry my miracle baby. But the reality of it is becoming that it will never be my turn. And while I convinced myself that I wouldn't mind, I do. At some point during all of this, I really wanted to carry my child. Even if being pregnant sucked like so many people tell me, I wanted to experience this "miracle" my body was capable of.
I often felt left out growing up due to my adopted/minority status. I wanted to have "normal" whatever that was. I wanted to belong in "the club" wherever that was. I fought hard to catch my brain when it tried to tell me I was being left out, again, and change my thinking. Being unable to be pregnant has given me the left out feeling, all over. Left out of knowing the secret that every woman shares...that bonds them as mothers to each other and their children. Left out of experiencing what my body was made for as a woman.
I know I won't always feel like this, but I also know the feelings of loss (like all loss) will always be hiding, ready to sting unexpectedly.
Whenever I go to 24 Hour Fitness, I always wash my hands before I leave because 24 is disgusting. Every time I walk into the women's locker room, there is a favorable chance that I will walk in on a middle-aged woman, buck naked walking around. Really? Yes. Just walking around. And it's a different woman every time. It happens 9 out of 10 times. I used to just try and avert my eyes, but now that I am used to it, I get kind of annoyed. Where are you going?! Nowhere. Just walking around aimlessly. There is an area off the main entrance...go be naked there, please.
Just like the annoyance of expecting to see a naked woman in the locker room, I have come to expect unfavorable news and outcomes in our IVF journey. We are at our two year anniversary with our doctor and the only thing our time and money has accomplished is funding his child's future college tuition.
We are on the fail train, hard.
When I went in for our fourth embryo transfer this morning, I was feeling dread.
I did my relaxation and positive visualization (kind of) and then let my defense mechanism or dramatic sarcasm take over. I was texting a friend who also knows this process all too well.
There were several couples there for a transfer and I realized that we were now the veterans of the process...after acting a complete ass the very first time, and arguably, every time.
But the truth is, it's not so funny any more. Not even V putting on the bunny suit is LOLable.
You can only make jokes and funny, self-deprecating comments for so long before you actually have a break down. Which is exactly what I did after the procedure; everything just culminated. Me, the upbeat patient who ALWAYS has a smile on my face for every appointment, broke down and couldn't pretend anymore. I have done a great job these past two years of keeping things together and not letting this take over my life.
It's possible, though, that I am getting tired.
Addendum 6/12/16
There are some very courageous, kick-ass people out there that never feel sorry for themselves. You read about a cancer patient who smiled and was upbeat until the day they died or a disabled person who has never felt sorry for themselves and went out to accomplish amazing things despite their disability.
I am not those people. I want to be and try really hard, but I have had a few too many pity parties of one lately. It only makes me loathe myself, knowing that I am feeling sorry for myself despite everything wonderful that I have been blessed with.
Obviously we miscarried, again.
As we face the decision to possibly kill off the remainder of our embryos (8 seemed like an insane amount when we started) or stumble into another world of surrogacy, we are at the point in this process that I never wanted to reach...a little broken. I would love to tell you that I truly believed all the things I said about "whatever happens, happens" or "as long as they can get here, we don't care how..."... But I only wrote those things because I didn't actually think that I wouldn't be able to do it. Did I think it would be easy? Of course not (well, actually at first, yes) but did I think that it would happen for us eventually? Yes. With every pregnancy announcement, baby shower, and birth, I told myself that maybe someday it will be my turn...that if I was so super patient, maybe it would be my turn to carry my miracle baby. But the reality of it is becoming that it will never be my turn. And while I convinced myself that I wouldn't mind, I do. At some point during all of this, I really wanted to carry my child. Even if being pregnant sucked like so many people tell me, I wanted to experience this "miracle" my body was capable of.
I often felt left out growing up due to my adopted/minority status. I wanted to have "normal" whatever that was. I wanted to belong in "the club" wherever that was. I fought hard to catch my brain when it tried to tell me I was being left out, again, and change my thinking. Being unable to be pregnant has given me the left out feeling, all over. Left out of knowing the secret that every woman shares...that bonds them as mothers to each other and their children. Left out of experiencing what my body was made for as a woman.
I know I won't always feel like this, but I also know the feelings of loss (like all loss) will always be hiding, ready to sting unexpectedly.
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