Start your wait

Two years ago last week, my husband and I snuck off from another out-of-town weekend event with no privacy to rent a hotel room (lol!) and attempt to make babies at the perfect time in my cycle. We had a great time! Despite repeated failures, we were still getting that little frisson of anticipation thinking maybe oo, maybe,THIS time... it worked! As if, since we had gone through this special effort, OBviously the Universe would give us what we wanted. We snuck away from our other event and *everything*. Had to wait until they'd let us check in, and then hid the fact to the hotel staff that we weren't actually spending the whole night. Had to glibly and vaguely lie to all of our friends about where we had been. And it was worth it. But. Well, you know the story. A mere two weeks later, the blood told the tale. It's taken me a long time to stop feeling crushed at the sight of my period, or that feeling that comes 12 hours before...

In some ways, we have bonded over our shared trials. And we've moved on to focus on adoption. But there is some of that journey that as much as I put it under the carpet, I still can't sweep it out entirely. I still have all our old syringes and various meds cluttering up corners in my closet and fridge. For God's sake, I still have leftover packages of gonadatropins in the back of the fridge! Left there like a room left untouched. And why is that? It's not like I'm going to scrap-book my experience. Do I need to really keep my tally of which injection I gave myself when?

My other kicks in then and calmly explains the deal: I feel I need to honor what I went through. I do my best to forget it, but I can't throw it away like it wasn't important. Maybe that's the difficulty. Or if I throw away all evidence that I underwent that, it will be as if I had never tried. I am still weirdly attached to those little vials, though they basically killed off what was left of my ovarian response... They also cost a staggering amount of money for the privilege. I tell myself I will throw them out when I get closer to out match day. No point in having needles around with a toddler, ya know. But still, I *made the effort*. I stabbed myself with needles repeatedly. I didn't give up hope, or at least little enough to keep me from undertaking the protocol. Damn it, I was GOOD at giving myself those damn injections... I was a ridiculously good patient. Shows what doing everything right gets you... Yeah, that's right: jack shit. :)

* * * * *

On another cheerful note, I had an irritating dream about my sister announcing that I was pregnant. Then it ended with her pompously announcing that my body was "just different." I woke up wanting to smack her, although of course, I was just a dream... Oo, my first dream about having a defective body. Lovely. I'll add it to the list.

I still sometimes find a stream of similarly irritating and hurtful thoughts running through the back of my mind. We weren't good enough to be parents... Our genes were unworthy to reproduce successfully...We waited too long...

Mostly I've learned to ignore this mean-spirited muttering, like with a class of 3rd graders or a surly 13 year old. I deliberately look at it and smile politely in the way that lets it know that my patience is wearing thin and it'd best shape up. And sometimes I sit on a simmering rage at the injustice. But like the Roosevelt Dam, the lid keeps things at an even stream; not so bottled that it breaks the whole support, but not so un-contained that it overwhelms me. What I mean about judicious repression... I have other things to do with my life. It's exhausting to "process" this upheaval in my life at dial 11 all the time. I usually have the sense to remove myself from flashfloods or sudden downpours from asshole interactions. I look at it curiously and say, hmmm... that's pretty asinine. Is that worth your ire?? Huh? 'Cause is it going to help? No? Okay, we'll not get involved with that one...

* * * * *

And now, we just received word that our dossier has officially been logged in. Almost two years after we hoped we'd make it happen that one memorable time... It feels almost unreal. I feel pleasantly detached. I am miserly with my excitement; I spend it well. Yes, we have an LID. I could add more exclamation points, because at some level, I am just thrilled!!!!!!! Finally!!!! But I am very weary of throwing my enthusiasm to the winds. is that what happens when life hands you too much disappointment? I am truly excited to have an official LID date, something to count our months from and calculate possible match months, but there's still the long haul. Now starts the *other* count down.