I'm overwhelmed by the outpouring of support on my last post. I'm still pretty new to this community and it felt amazing to post my story and have people immediately understand. There were no questions. I didn't have to re-explain or give reasons. I could just tell the truth and you all nodded and understood and opened your arms. That understanding picked me up on a very dark day.
We haven't told our parents yet. Everyone thinks we were going to get the definite news by Thursday, so we are taking these days for us. We WERE going to find out on Thursday. We WERE going to have a beta Tuesday and Thursday because we were SUPPOSED to be out of town on Monday (the first day we could get the beta according to the doctor).
But we WERE NOT and we DID NOT.
Easter was interrupted by growing dread. We left early. The focus became survival. What did we need to do to survive possible bad news? We needed to obsess over Dr. Google (check), we needed to leave the family party early (check), we needed to inspect toilet tissue right up until the phone call (double check). We talked about our feelings. My gut reaction was "NO! I can't do this again!!" I said that to my hubby and he just looked at me with love and sympathy. He knows how hard the shots were for me. He asked me if I could do it if he came home early everyday to give me the shots. When he said that I realized I could do it. We both have made sacrifices, we are in this together and it was enough for me that he offered to do that that I realized I could (and will) do this all over again.
I wondered today if I grieved enough. I told two of my work friends today. The two who were on the inside, knowing why I needed last minute days off and why I had to go to the bathroom everyday at 6pm on the dot (Oh...Lupron, I'll see you again soon enough). Their faces didn't reflect mine when I told them. They were shocked and obviously hurting for me. I just kept saying, "It's OK. I'm OK. We're OK."
I am OK. But sometimes I am not. Sometimes the last five minutes of Dancing With the Stars reduces me to hiccuping, unstoppable tears and I know that I am grieving in my own way.
I have a picture of two embryos. I didn't name them specifically, but I could see how some people could. I just called them The Future. And now that picture goes in between the pages of my bible (along with my college acceptance letter and one of the empty, flattened boxes of Accutane that I took in high school to clear up an acne mess and photos of my family, a copy of our marriage certificate and a few other mementos of things that are close to my heart. People and events that needed protection.
I need protection. I am fragile and sensitive. But, I am also smarter, braver and stronger than I was before and I will face another IVF head on. For now, the focus is getting all the medication out of my system so I can be myself for a little while. I feel like I am in recovery. But, I know what to expect now. I know that I will live through the shots. I know that the egg retrieval is painful, but that the swelling and constipation will go away. I know that I can survive bad news. I know how much I am loved.
I just never thought this would be my life. I never pictured this. I didn't know.