Longing to Believe in My Miracle

I have been quiet as of late. Not sure what to write, but sitting here on the eve of my retrieval, I finally feel compelled to do so. This, my first IVF, has left me feeling a mixture of emotions:

• Deeply disappointed at my body's poor response,
• But not surprised.
• Embarrassed...
  
• And more infertile than ever.

At last count, and after many dosage increases, I had 13ish mature eggs at best (17 counting the little guys who will never be). My doctor was surprised by my slower-than-average response and while I prophesized that this would come to pass, I had no evidence to prove that it would be the case other than a deep intuition. Of course, then again, I had no evidence that I would miscarry last June other than my intuition and that happened as well. I think it's safe to keep listening to myself.

The feeling that this IVF was a lesson in futility and at best a 'trial' run to demonstrate my response for future cycles deepened as the days progressed. I suppose my absence here was an attempt to disconnect from that disappointment, but with each and every day I showed up for blood draws and ultrasounds, I was reminded. Nevertheless, I had so many saving graces along the way, the first being my non-blogger IF friend Sarang, the most thoughtful person on the face of the planet. I can't count the number of times she has surprised all of us IFers with thoughtful, hope-filled gifts. This time was no different. On a day when I learned that the doc postponed my retrieval by yet another day (3 days total), I got a package from her wrapped in a pomegranate ribbon. Inside was a beautiful silver necklace with two pomegranate beads, a pomegranate ribbon charm and a silver pendant engraved with 'miracle' dangling on the end of it. The enclosed card to me was simple:

"I believe in your miracle"

Insta-tears.

She believed and at once I realized, I did not.

When I think about all of this pain and effort, I don't think, "Hey, at least I might get a baby out of this." Instead I think, "This is necessary to move on. I must do this to accept that I will never have the child I've so long dreamed of."

So when you realize that others hold out more hope for you than you do yourself, it is powerful. It's powerful that friends I met just a handful of months ago have so much care and concern for me, so much understanding, many times more than friends I've known for years and it's powerful that I've allowed myself to give up, at least at this moment in time. Thank God for them.

When this is all said and done, I have big plans that I hope I will honor. If it's positive, well then, I guess my big plan will have already been put into place. Hopefully it's a plan that will stick (the words of someone who has obviously met loss). If it's negative, I think it might be time to take a break. I will no longer require myself to be a constant human petrie dish on a mad race against some undefined clock. I will take a moment to breathe, perhaps a small handful of months, and enjoy what it's like to no longer be a pin cushion constantly under the influence of artificial hormones and two week waits. I'll take a break from wondering how to explain my way out of a meeting because of a last minute ultrasound and I'll not pay attention to every single twinge in my body. There will be no pills to take, no shots to administer. And I'll do something about the 20+ pounds I let myself gain in grief. I'll try to begin to reverse that deep disappointment in myself. I planted it so deep that I know it will be hard to dig out, but I have to begin somewhere. Now is as good a time as any.

As you might be able to tell, I'm tired. No, exhausted. I'm coming off the end of 5 months of continuous treatment, still grieving my beloved dog, my lost baby, and I'm ready to turn my tired mind away from the singular focus that is infertility, even if just for a moment's time, knowing that this particular journey is not quite over...yet.