I spoke to my mom last night, who wanted a follow-up on our meeting with the IVF doc. We are super close, but nothing enrages me more (currently) than when she says “I know you will get pregnant,” or “I know it will work out.”
Well, ma, it might. But it might work out in five years or it might work out with us adopting but you don’t know any more than us so please stop saying what you know. It’s the opposite of comforting. Say “I hope.” That’s the best we can ask for.
I think my anxiety is stemming from the fact that we really just don’t know how this story is going to end. It’s like those quotable cards, which I used to love…
Thoreau clearly wasn’t dealing with infertility or multiple miscarriages. I can’t live the life I imagined in one very important way. I can go boldly in this new direction of IVF, and HOPE that it works, but certainly making a baby while in stirrups with my doctor instead of in bed with my husband is NOT the life I imagined. So what I’m saying is… there are limitations to that.
Of course, maybe it’s all in my concept of time. What we found out this week is that it if we decide to do IVF, it will be at least three months before I’m pregnant. I’ve got to get my period, then one month for testing, one month for egg retrieval, and on the third month we’d start to do transfers (assuming any good eggs, that is). Sure, three months isn’t that bad until I think the worst thought imaginable…
But what if it doesn’t work?
I’m certainly not guaranteed a baby in three months, or even four or how ever many eggs we have to transfer. They could all not work. And then we spent that time doing IVF, not trying naturally, not starting the adoption process, not trying to figure out Plan B.
I hope that when I’m holding my child I will look back on all of this and laugh at how impatient I was. I can compare it to when my dad was dying of cancer. My brother had just gotten married, but I was still in business school, with no idea what my life would hold. I had some ideas but greatest wish at the time was to be able to let him read the ending to my book, just to see that it turned out okay. I still think it will, but then again, I just read All the Light We Cannot See, the ending to which I would have been more than a little flabbergasted to read ahead of time. But there’s still that human instinct, to want to get to the end to make sure everyone turns out okay, and then to look back and think you didn’t enjoy the journey, that you wasted your time worrying. So my intention this week is:
Enjoy the journey.
If my instinct is to hurry up to see the ending, I need to find a way to slow down, even if it feels excruciating, and figure out what I can find joy in right now. Some days there will be NFW, but I can’t live the next three months as though I am “just getting through” each day. I will try to be mindful and find the joy, however small, in the other parts of my life, which are fucking lovely and exactly what I wished for myself back when I wanted to give my dad a sneak peek.
I am living the life I imagined. I have a wonderful, kind, hilarious husband, and I live in the sunshine, and I care about my work. I am working my ass off to add a child to that mix and one way or another, it will happen. Because I am fucking resilient, that’s why.