So I took a break from actively trying to conceive for a few months. If I didn’t I was bound to lose what little sanity I had left. I, to put it bluntly, have a tendency to obsess over things. Music, bagels, fictional characters- I can fixate on anything. Trying to have a child has been the dominant obsession of mine since 2014. Then I conceived and I thought I could finally obsess over a baby. Tiny shoes and outfits- something tangible and cute and way healthier to dwell on. Then I miscarried, and I not only became obsessed over my miscarriage, I threw myself back into the world of trying to conceive too quickly. I was angry and bitter and just not someone pleasant to be around for a long time. So I took a few months off and decided to revert back into a safe and harmless obsession: TV shows.
Some of you obsess about sports; I like good TV. With the gift that is Netflix I was able to binge watch my favorite TV show. I immersed myself in the world of Supernatural (by far my favorite TV show ever) which occupied quite a chunk of time as there are ten season on Netflix, and the eleventh was currently finishing it’s course on the CW. Two brothers- Saving people, hunting things. The family business. It’s one of the few shows that you can watch where there won’t be a surprise pregnancy thrown at you, or a character struggling with infertility. Demons, ghosts, Lucifer and God- sure; infertility, nope. It’s a good show to just forget about the real world for a while. (No, I was not paid to advertise this show for the CW- I’d pitch for my boys for free). I also watched Sherlock– holy crap, it’s good, go watch.
After a few months regaining my sanity (how weird that watching a show predominately featuring hunting monsters and demons “restored” my sanity) John and I decided to start trying again. So back on the meds. This was to be the first month where we’d go through the whole IUI (intrauterine insemination) processes again. IVF is not financially in the cards for us, especially not during the slow months at work when I’m cancelled at least once a pay period. IUI is roughly $1,000 a month, much easier to charge than the $23K+ that one cycle of IVF would cost. So I accepted that IUI was going to be our best bet, and I made myself so freaking positive about it all. I remained optimistic and hopeful, smiling and laughing again, trying to stay relaxed, because everyone will tell you that relaxing is the key to getting pregnant. (Yes, I did just roll my eyes dramatically at that)
Anyway, yesterday was supposed to be our first IUI, but unfortunately testing showed that this month was a wash. The numbers we needed for it to at least have a chance at being successful were not there. I was crushed. I still am. In those first few moments I was angry, bitter, maybe a tad psychotic. I don’t like surprises; I like being prepared, and being told that I took those awful pills with the added new side effect of such excessive sweat that I literally had to wear a towel under my scrubs at work, was for nothing was a shocker. I’ve cried, laughed and threw a bottle of vitamins all within the last 18 hours. It’s my fault that I reacted that way. That’s what happens when I don’t plan for the worst possible outcome at every turn. Some call that pessimism but I call that being a realist who is preparing for every eventual outcome. Imagining all the possibilities that could occur gives me a chance to adapt to what I might feel and generally makes it all a little easier to process.
So basically I’m back to square one, trying to understand something that cannot be understood. I’m trying to rationalize why some people get children they can’t even care for and I, who would be a moderately good mother, cannot. I don’t understand why the process must be so difficult and so expensive- for infertility treatments, for adoption- it’s all just horseshit. Sheer horseshit. Big stinkin’ piles of horseshit.
I’m still a little angry. I’m trying to not be, but it’s a part of the five stages of grieving. Trying, and failing, to conceive, is once big trip through the stages of grieving every freakin’ month.
Denial– well, maybe I am pregnant but this test is just faulty. It’s still too early anyway. Maybe I didn’t hold my pee long enough.
Anger– I don’t understand; how can I not be pregnant but this woman can set her kid on fire? Screw the universe. I’m not a bad person! I’m not a crack head, this is bull shit!
Bargaining– If you let me get pregnant, I swear I’ll go to church, and volunteer more hours with hospice and adopt a shelter animal to prove I’m worthy.
Depression– My life is meaningless.
Acceptance– Okay, not this month. Maybe next month.
Understanding the psychology behind it all, believe it or not, makes it a little easier. So maybe next month it is.