Dr. T called today to say that R’s ovaries need a rest so we have to cancel our last spin of the fertility wheel, at least for a few months. We don’t yet know whether we’ll decide to spin again later; the earliest we could resume is March. And by March we’ll have been working toward becoming parents for nearly three years. There are worse things, for sure, and watching the PBS Frontline Special, Poor Kids, served as a searing reminder that my problems are small in the grander scheme.
And still I feel a deep sadness that the thing I want so much and have worked so hard for is out of reach. I’ve rarely encountered a task that I couldn’t master with enough training, time, and effort – especially something that most other people can do without any effort at all. That I’m so frustrated by the lack of correlation between effort and results should give me pause because it’s indicative of my privilege.
Instead I feel oppressed by the weight of the decisions in front of us. Many of our loved ones have encouraged us to take a break from thinking and talking and trying. We have taken 1-3 month breaks before, and they’ve been refreshing. But at this juncture taking a break feels like fence sitting, and I hate fence sitting. I loathe liminal spaces. I am uncomfortable on the precipice.