This may very well be my last chance at another child and the weight of that hasn't completely sunk in.
I held on to these two embryos for three years with a steel-laced grip. Changes, bills and tragedies piled high throughout that time, leaving me undoubtedly unprepared, so the decision to keep them in storage was almost always a no-brainer. And then I realized the main reason why they were still waiting: suspended possibilities.
You see, I thought that as long as they remained, so too did the possibility of another child. Their very existence, the bill that I received every month, meant that the game wasn't over. And that once I went forward with the cycle, should it fail, meant that any possibility of another child would be gone with them.
While this could very well be true, I came to a place recently (though I'm not sure when) during which I was ready to let those possibilities fly, whichever direction they chose. I became ready to accept their destiny and as a result, mine. And in some strange way, I felt a peace in doing it. Letting go of this dangling unknown to see where it may go has been strangely freeing and yet anxiety provoking at the same time. My cushion of insurance is gone.
How is it that the end of these next several days will likely reveal a turning point in my life? How can one treatment, a few snapshots in time, change a person's path completely? I know that well, but I still can't understand it. This game of gamble where so many put all of their chips down on one dream can either bring about the greatest thing imaginable, a child, or it can stop it on a dime. It's a dream giver, a dream crusher, and I will soon (but not soon enough) find out on which side of the coin mine will fall.
Friday, September 7, 2012
PUPO #2
It was a split-second decision I made several weeks ago. After committing to halting our FET until I was ready, I decided that I was suddenly...ready. At once I was in a much better space both physically and emotionally and the timing at work seemed to make sense (which it rarely does), so I embarked on returning our 3 1/2 year old embryos. As of today, I am officially PUPO.
Weird. I have a coupla embies floatin' around in me, each deciding whether to stick around. Maybe they've already made the decision. That stuff, well, it's still surreal, even after having experienced it the first time around (and watching one of those said embryos from three years ago go to preschool today).
The journey to this transfer was especially harrowing this time around and it wasn't just about being loaded up with crazy-making hormones. After attending a quick work meeting the morning of (I know, stupid decision, but I wanted to get it out of the way) and my son's preschool orientation for 20 minutes after that (it was worth it), Mr. S and I rushed off to the clinic for my pre-treatment acupuncture for what was supposed to be a 30 minute commute. We would have arrived in plenty of time. At that point, it was about an hour-and-a-half until transfer. So, that 30 minute commute? Well, as we sat in inching traffic just fifteen minutes from our house, we discovered that our commute was projected to have over two hours of delays due to freeway closures.
Cue all that is anti-relaxation.
It turns out that there was an officer-involved shooting on the freeway somewhere between our town and the clinic during which both the suspect and an officer were shot. Although I am now heartbroken for the family of the officer (who just passed away today), at the time, I have to honestly say that I was hyper-focused on what was in front of me, especially as I sat in a frozen stream of traffic with the fullest bladder imaginable. It was well beyond discomfort and into the seering pain stage.
After finally finding our way off the freeway, I peed for what seemed like 5 minutes straight and we got back on for another hour, taking a very diverted path. As soon as we arrived at the clinic, we did not pass go, collect $200 (no they collected far more than that) and did not do pre-acupuncture. Instead, I was ushered straight into the stirrups. As I lay there, it became one of the most odd de-ja-vu experiences.
Except, this was different. I'd been here before, but then, I haven't. 3 1/2 years later, I do not have the assurance of the package of 6 IVFs waiting for me or the non-elevated FSH ovaries that would make it possible for me to go back and do it again. But one thing I do have is a child. So, although de-ja-vu, I was looking at the experience with a very different lens. Nevertheless, my longing is no less.
And so begins the complete and total mindf%$ that is the *sorta* 2 WW. I forgot how intense it could be. Namely, I forgot how much it SUCKS MONKEY BALLS. More on that....
Weird. I have a coupla embies floatin' around in me, each deciding whether to stick around. Maybe they've already made the decision. That stuff, well, it's still surreal, even after having experienced it the first time around (and watching one of those said embryos from three years ago go to preschool today).
The journey to this transfer was especially harrowing this time around and it wasn't just about being loaded up with crazy-making hormones. After attending a quick work meeting the morning of (I know, stupid decision, but I wanted to get it out of the way) and my son's preschool orientation for 20 minutes after that (it was worth it), Mr. S and I rushed off to the clinic for my pre-treatment acupuncture for what was supposed to be a 30 minute commute. We would have arrived in plenty of time. At that point, it was about an hour-and-a-half until transfer. So, that 30 minute commute? Well, as we sat in inching traffic just fifteen minutes from our house, we discovered that our commute was projected to have over two hours of delays due to freeway closures.
Cue all that is anti-relaxation.
It turns out that there was an officer-involved shooting on the freeway somewhere between our town and the clinic during which both the suspect and an officer were shot. Although I am now heartbroken for the family of the officer (who just passed away today), at the time, I have to honestly say that I was hyper-focused on what was in front of me, especially as I sat in a frozen stream of traffic with the fullest bladder imaginable. It was well beyond discomfort and into the seering pain stage.
After finally finding our way off the freeway, I peed for what seemed like 5 minutes straight and we got back on for another hour, taking a very diverted path. As soon as we arrived at the clinic, we did not pass go, collect $200 (no they collected far more than that) and did not do pre-acupuncture. Instead, I was ushered straight into the stirrups. As I lay there, it became one of the most odd de-ja-vu experiences.
Except, this was different. I'd been here before, but then, I haven't. 3 1/2 years later, I do not have the assurance of the package of 6 IVFs waiting for me or the non-elevated FSH ovaries that would make it possible for me to go back and do it again. But one thing I do have is a child. So, although de-ja-vu, I was looking at the experience with a very different lens. Nevertheless, my longing is no less.
And so begins the complete and total mindf%$ that is the *sorta* 2 WW. I forgot how intense it could be. Namely, I forgot how much it SUCKS MONKEY BALLS. More on that....
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Plan B...or C. Hell, I Have No Idea What Plan I'm On.
My originally scheduled FET *would* have been today (if all went according to plan). But, it didn't. You know what they say about the best laid plans...
Except that instead of pointing my finger at some whore-bag cyst or lab error or something to that effect, I'm going to chalk this one up to life. And life, well, she's been a bit of a bitch lately.
When I made the decision to go forward with our frozens, it was just a few months past my mother's death. Perhaps an outsider might have determined that I was being a bit hasty there, but that outsider might not have been privy to a laundry list of other details that seemed to make the timing ideal, not the least of which is my steadily disappearing fertility (if it was ever there to begin with) and the fact that it was scheduled smack dab in the middle of my 6 weeks of summer vacation. Perfect, right?
What I didn't anticipate, though, was that there was a competing laundry list of reasons why the timing was absolutely awful, all of which I was blinded to until more recently.
At the beginning of the list: my stomach. My doc and I have suspected an ulcer for at least a year now. Fatty foods, alcohol, stress=a gnawing, burning pit of fire in my gut. Right before I was slated to start my cycle, my GI issues were kicked into high gear and I decided at the suggestion of an acupuncturist (certainly not the beeyotch I dealt with before!) to tackle those first. I was really bummed, but decided to postpone the cycle for a month.
And then Mr. S did something to his toe. We're not sure what, but I can tell you that it has rendered him almost completely unable to move around for almost a month. While our help with childcare has been limited to nil, I have found myself unable to go to acupuncture appointments and feeling really isolated and overwhelmed with parenting much of the time on my own. While I have made efforts to get out of the house and involve my son in social activities, the truth is, I don't have much in the way of family and quite frankly, friends, at least locally.
Perhaps this isolation is exacerbated by the absence of one of the most important people in my life, a reality I am still trying so hard to wrap my head around. I am still so frequently shocked at how raw and new the pain still is over losing my Mom. I truly believe I underestimated the weight I am still carrying. It can expertly mask itself, but make no mistake-it is a power player.
Here I was, in the middle of what should have been perfectly unblemished summer days strolling in the sunshine with my miracle baby, but instead I've been overcome with fatigue, anger, loneliness. I've been here before and it's not a good place. So, with that being said, I am not at the top of my game for the child I already have, so why in the world would I even consider adding someone else right now?
I wouldn't.
I went to my doctor (primary care) today who I have long suspected was a fellow IFer (I've been trying to align myself to get 'the confession'). Sure enough, she is. When I shared my concerns about my physical and mental health, she recommended that I ignore my clock and take care of me first. Yes, she pulled out the "you can adopt" card, but I allowed her this pass as that's exactly what she did. And you know, whether that's our destiny or maybe these frozens will take or whatever, it gave me a fair amount of peace because the look on her face was one of fulfillment and not at all matching what I felt-a place of constant worry and despair.
So, the short story is, I am voluntarily postponing our FET until I feel it is time. That could be another two months or perhaps longer. I won't know until I reach it. Living in this uncertainty is maddening for a planner like me, but I refuse to waste my last chance. While circumstances will never be perfect, there's certainly a lot of room for improvement.
Except that instead of pointing my finger at some whore-bag cyst or lab error or something to that effect, I'm going to chalk this one up to life. And life, well, she's been a bit of a bitch lately.
When I made the decision to go forward with our frozens, it was just a few months past my mother's death. Perhaps an outsider might have determined that I was being a bit hasty there, but that outsider might not have been privy to a laundry list of other details that seemed to make the timing ideal, not the least of which is my steadily disappearing fertility (if it was ever there to begin with) and the fact that it was scheduled smack dab in the middle of my 6 weeks of summer vacation. Perfect, right?
What I didn't anticipate, though, was that there was a competing laundry list of reasons why the timing was absolutely awful, all of which I was blinded to until more recently.
At the beginning of the list: my stomach. My doc and I have suspected an ulcer for at least a year now. Fatty foods, alcohol, stress=a gnawing, burning pit of fire in my gut. Right before I was slated to start my cycle, my GI issues were kicked into high gear and I decided at the suggestion of an acupuncturist (certainly not the beeyotch I dealt with before!) to tackle those first. I was really bummed, but decided to postpone the cycle for a month.
And then Mr. S did something to his toe. We're not sure what, but I can tell you that it has rendered him almost completely unable to move around for almost a month. While our help with childcare has been limited to nil, I have found myself unable to go to acupuncture appointments and feeling really isolated and overwhelmed with parenting much of the time on my own. While I have made efforts to get out of the house and involve my son in social activities, the truth is, I don't have much in the way of family and quite frankly, friends, at least locally.
Perhaps this isolation is exacerbated by the absence of one of the most important people in my life, a reality I am still trying so hard to wrap my head around. I am still so frequently shocked at how raw and new the pain still is over losing my Mom. I truly believe I underestimated the weight I am still carrying. It can expertly mask itself, but make no mistake-it is a power player.
Here I was, in the middle of what should have been perfectly unblemished summer days strolling in the sunshine with my miracle baby, but instead I've been overcome with fatigue, anger, loneliness. I've been here before and it's not a good place. So, with that being said, I am not at the top of my game for the child I already have, so why in the world would I even consider adding someone else right now?
I wouldn't.
I went to my doctor (primary care) today who I have long suspected was a fellow IFer (I've been trying to align myself to get 'the confession'). Sure enough, she is. When I shared my concerns about my physical and mental health, she recommended that I ignore my clock and take care of me first. Yes, she pulled out the "you can adopt" card, but I allowed her this pass as that's exactly what she did. And you know, whether that's our destiny or maybe these frozens will take or whatever, it gave me a fair amount of peace because the look on her face was one of fulfillment and not at all matching what I felt-a place of constant worry and despair.
So, the short story is, I am voluntarily postponing our FET until I feel it is time. That could be another two months or perhaps longer. I won't know until I reach it. Living in this uncertainty is maddening for a planner like me, but I refuse to waste my last chance. While circumstances will never be perfect, there's certainly a lot of room for improvement.
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