I haven’t written much over the past few weeks, and it’s tough to explain why. I think I’ve found my zen state, and I just felt like marinating in it. It’s the culmination of the combined effect of concerted effort and lived experience, and I’m happy with the result. I feel more confident than usual, more free to make mistakes, and more willing to act in my own best interest. It took me 33 years to arrive at this place, and I’m a little worried about it fading away like a desert mirage. Today was a test of that fear, and I think I passed.
R started the Femera and we had every reason to think this cycle was going to be perfect. We had the trifecta of new interventions: new donor, medication, and early ultrasound to be sure we didn’t miss ovulation. After sitting out last month we were psyched up and ready to go this month. We arrived at the RE’s office this morning, bright and early, with our game faces on. The sonographer looked concerned from the moment she started the exam, and when she finished she asked us to wait to talk to the NP. The NP blew into the exam room like a bat out of hell, and was unnecessarily cheerful and excessively loud. She told us that this was a bum cycle and R isn’t going to ovulate at all. She told us it was okay, and we’ll just start over in about two weeks, and everything will be “okay.” I had to fight the urge to tersely inform her it was really NOT okay. But I didn’t, mostly because our parking meter had expired and a ticket would have really been the proverbial straw.
A part of me wanted to be two years old so that throwing a tantrum in the RE’s office would be an acceptable response. But the majority of me responded pretty calmly and with a zen detachment rooted in my confidence that our Bean will come to us. Maybe she’s going to come later than we’d hoped or maybe not in the manner we’d hoped (i.e. via R’s womb) but she’ll come. While I know that, I don’t want other people to remind me of it. Well meaning folks advise me to be patient or to trust that it’ll happen when it’s meant to be, but those words don’t offer the comfort they’re meant to offer. I just want someone to say “I’m sorry this is so hard” or to ask how I feel about it, rather than telling me how I should feel. And I’m so happy that I do have friends and family who can’t fully understand this journey, but who appreciate its difficulty nonetheless.
I told R that I was worried about how I would react when other friends and family tell us they’re expecting, especially because the first time that happened after I learned I couldn’t have kids, I experienced a torrent of unwelcome emotions that cycled quickly through sadness, jealousy, and guilt. I really don’t want to experience that again. I want to celebrate others’ successes as fully as they deserve. About ten minutes ago my neighbor stopped by and told me she’s pregnant again after experiencing an unexpected late term loss last winter. I am truly, deeply happy for her. I’m already thinking about the gift I’ll make.