On Sunday afternoon I wore my Athleta headband directly on my forehead because the stupid thing won't stay where it's supposed to. Shoes took one look at me and said, "What the *expletive* are you wearing?" Instead of launching into a soliloquy as to why sports headbands for women could be the stupidest invention imaginable as none of them actually stay on my head, I said instead, "I'm Rambo! I'm Rambo! I'm Rambo!" and ran around the house.
Just feeling better I suppose. Grateful the flu was gone. Grateful I wasn't nauseous. Grateful for energy. I had a feeling, despite what the on call doc had said, that it wasn't the good news we are waiting for.
And it's not. We are not expecting.
In the middle of the-only-have-the-flu-at-night, I had the first appointment with our fertility doc. I like this doc, you guys. A lot. But we had to talk about some Serious Things. Namely, I had to talk in detail about the testing Former Husband and I completed when we tried to have a baby, unsuccessfully-but-thank-the -LORD-for-that, in 2007. It brought up a flood of memories I didn't realize I still had. (None of them all that pleasant, by the way.)
You want to know something?
Even though I knew, really, that what I had was the flu, there was still a part of me that was holding hope against hope that some miracle had happened and I had miraculously developed morning sickness ... at week 3. (Right. I know.)
This isn't just Shoes and I trying for 6 months at the age of 36.
THIS is added to the period before which had much more invasive fertility testing. This is not new for me. When confirmation came that Shoes and I were not expecting this past week, the lack of pregnancy felt different this time. I think, due to the long conversation I had with the doc about my previous marriage, this felt ... compounded. It felt bigger.
So much bigger.
So much deeper.
I had a little breakdown, you guys. Shoes and I sat on the bed and talked and didn't talk and talked some more while I wept.
But here's the bottom line: Other than one more test we could do right now, unless we wanted to skip to IUI or IVF, there's nothing more we can do (other than try conventionally.) (We have decided that IUI and IVF are not the paths for us.) The doc told me what the acupuncturist told me: You're doing as much as you can do.
Something shifted this weekend. Our hearts are still in this, deeply, but I need to make some changes in my spirit.
I know this sounds very ... therapist-y ... but I wrote myself a little love letter. And I wept the entire gosh darned time. In it, I gave myself permission to let go. I told myself my life means more that constant data checking and symptom checking and symptom OVER ANALYZING. I reminded myself that while I put all of my energy and spare time into pouring over Google Forums and threads and whatever the *&*(%$# else is on the Internet, I get almost nothing in return. No peace of mind. No sound advice. Just more worry.
I am missing out on the wholeness that is my life.
Even my OB told me to quit charting. Full disclosure: I'm not going to do that. But I wrote a note to myself and posted it on the computer that read, "NO FORUMS." And I wrote myself out a little plan for when I feel tempted to over analyze and would most likely sucked into the Hell that is Google. There's a lot of things on that list.
Worrying about this is not one of them.
And while this is all good and healthy and practices faith and trust, and loving kindness to myself, something else happens with that too. The hurt becomes a little more protected and a little more private. I'm not sure that's something I can explain, but I feel myself moving into a place of reluctance to talk about this when people ask outright.
After having to talk again about the full extent of this journey, ranging back to 2007, I do not want to talk about it anymore. In person, anyway.
I used to take people's questions and (let's be honest - ridiculous) advice in love. I'm reluctant right now, especially after some less than understanding exchanges this weekend, to talk about it with people face to face at all. Logically, I know people don't understand what it's like to just not have this happen over and over again. Logically, I know that *this* is not the world's biggest struggle. However, in this moment, it is *my* struggle. And it is scary. And exhausting. And the safest thing right now to me feels like to keep it, at least in regards to face to face conversations with others, to Shoes and myself. (But the Internet offers alllllll kinds of fake anonymity, right? Suffice it to say there will be more posts about this as the Internet is not quite real life in many aspects.)
So this past week?
I did not die from the flu.
I watched too much daytime TV.
I received all the Rosie snuggles.
And I started to look fear in the eye a little bit.
And I realized, or at least started to realize, how much I have not been honoring the wholeness of this life.
(I have not read a forum or thread in three days. It feels better. No amount of pineapple core / bromelain is going to make me feel better about this process anyway ... it will always be something else. I don't want to miss out on what's right here, right now as we move forward to what might be.)