This picture graces the home screen to my blog. It spoke so much to me at the time I chose it because—among so many “No” petals—a “Yes” won. Hope. Odd-defying triumph. Rising from the ashes. Which is how I imagined infertility would one day end: finally beating the odds, pulling a yes from the countless nos. What I think these petals are actually from is the game “He loves me, he loves me not.” Fittingly, I’ve been playing that very game over and over again this past week. Except instead of “He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not,” it goes something like “I’m Pregnant, I’m Pregnant-Not.”
Twinges in my uterus? Pregnant. Spotting? Pregnant-Not. Nausea? Pregnant. Cramping? Pregnant-Not. I’ve mastered this game. All day, every day. I can outplay anyone who dares challenge me to a round. And at 6dp5dt I get to keep on playing for four more fun-filled days.
Remember how last time I posted I talked about a TWW post that I had in mind? Forget I said that. You guys don’t need my TWW tips or to know what foods I’m eating or whether I’m wearing socks round the clock. I don’t even care about that stuff anymore. I just care about making it through this wait. Intact.
Maybe it’s because I’m on so many more hormones than last time and at higher doses, maybe it’s because we don’t have any more frosties left to “spare” if this fails, maybe it’s due to residual depression that I haven’t dealt with, but, ya’ll—I’m a mess. Like, a total, complete, sloppy, messy mess. I honestly cannot remember the last time I felt so insane waiting. It’s regular crazytown over here.
See, you’re all privy to a big secret: Jake and I didn’t tell anyone that we were doing this FET. The only person we told, in utmost confidence, was our pastor so he could pray for us and for the outcome. Last time around, several people in our lives knew that we were doing IVF. But having to report the play-by-play of events to these people, especially the final end result, ended up making us feel like we just let everyone down. This time we decided we’d tell no one—absolutely no one—until we were at the beginning of the second trimester. At the time it sounded like a good idea, but now the isolation of doing a secret IVF cycle is taking its toll on me. I feel completely and utterly alone: just me and Jake against the world.
All these hormones are making me a big ol’ ball of crazy. Add to the equation that I’ve been cramping quite heavily for days now, spotting like mad, and my ovary ceaselessly feels like it’s being stretched beyond capacity, and we have the perfect concoction for an inevitable meltdown. I’m continually amazed at the fact that I’m somehow able to hold conversations with people, run errands, go to work, get dressed, and generally somewhat appear normal during this TWW, while on the inside I feel like it’s only a matter of nanoseconds before I completely self destruct. Because as I’m doing these “normal” things, I’m continually thinking to myself, “I’m Pregnant, I just know it. Nope, I just had more spotting. Pregnant-Not. New mystery symptom? Definitely pregnant! Or maybe not. I must Google it. Immediately. Daaag: that’s a Pregnant-Not. But some people say it could mean a Pregnant…” And on and on it goes as I pull yes-no petals from the flower that seems to have no end.
It’s exactly moments like these that I need to remind myself to:
And to ask you guys to please pray for my mind, pray for this endless ovary pain to end, pray for Jake because he has to deal with me in real life, pray for this cycle to yield our take-home baby, and pray that I get through what feels an interminable wait with grace.