Yesterday was rough yet wonderful. There was a party and most of my family was there. In particular my sister with her two kids, the one still only a month old, the other over 2 years. My mom couldn’t follow a sentence to its end, because her eyes and ears were all on the kids. Finally my sister, Faith, gave her the baby to hold and while holding him she could even talk with me a little.
It was hard for me. I even had to stop the conversation a couple of times and bury my face behind the coffee cup, look out the window and just breath. There was also a friend of my sister’s there, and I happen to know they’ve been trying for some months now, five maybe, for their third child. We were going to open a bottle of wine after the kids had left and she made some remark on not wanting to drink right now. I brushed the comment off quite defencively and kept away from her after that.
It hurt more than I thought it would. I wasn’t prepared for the sorrow that comes from seeing how my family interacts with Faith’s kids. Suddenly it filled me with sorrow, when she breastfed the child or when my mom kissed his little bald head or when my sister Hope would read picture books to the two year old. They were all talking about how we’d see each other in a little while, in the christening, and it made me really uncomfortable. I had already told Faith that I couldn’t come. It wasn’t so much a choice, but since I couldn’t even read the invitation text message without my eyes being blurred by tears, I though it safe to just not go. Faith was the best sister she could’ve been, when she said I love you just as much, if you don’t come.
I don’t think I could handle it, but I wasn’t at all prepared that I possibly couldn’t handle any situation with my family and Faith’s family. It’s okay, when I just see her and the kids. That I can accept. But it’s pretty bad to me to see other people with her kids. See, how they love them and care for them. Something I’ve have to let go of ever having for myself.
It also hurts that my big sister, Hope, who is also trying for a baby, is so happy and normal with my little Faith’s kids. It’s something I’ve lost, that serene feeling that comes from playing with someone else’s kids. That hope of future happiness.
There was this one night this week, when I tried to ask, how Wonderboy is feeling. He hadn’t really talked about the results, had gone to bed really early and was spent the whole week. He spooned me every night so tight I could barely breath, so I knew he was struggling just as I was. He just couldn’t say anything. I hugged him on the bed and said he could talk to me. I had gone from crying all day to talking about it without crying and even starting to feel a hint of optimism. I felt I had to offer him some solace now.
There’s nothing nice to say, he said.
It was the worse he could do. He couldn’t have brought up his mourning, when I was totally out of it, but now he could. And he didn’t want to upset me with it.
Hugging is enough, he continued and hugged me tight against his chest, even put my leg around his hips and really clung to me.
But after it I felt devastated. After he fell asleep, I spent hours and hours playing computer games so I wouldn’t have to feel what I was feeling. It is the worse feeling in the world having to face your loved one’s bottomless sorrow and being able to do nothing about it.
There’s little to say about the (in)fertility testing. There were grave problems. The doctor didn’t go into so much detail about the meaning of the results, but the way our session ended was indication enough.
I’m not going to put you straight to IVF. Let’s try some hormones first, She said.
The hormones were for me. They’re supposed to help me gain a steady cycle and good follicles and make sure the follicles also detach. I don’t have a tremendous amount of faith with hormones, but it helps to know that we’re doing something. This is what I have to go through before they believe that it isn’t going to happen spontaneously, and then we’ll get to IVF. It’s what I put all my faith in, because you know what? There really isn’t much else they can do.
From what I’ve learned from the internet conserning our test results it’s probably never going to happen spontaneously. That’s what most of the doctors in (in)fertility think, anyway. I know there’s some magic involved. The numbers are just numbers, the percentages are just persentages and there are always exceptions. But seeing as we’re already in the minority here, I won’t put all my faith in a miracle.
The bottom line: I’m being shot full of hormones, again. I’m dreading the emotional side-effects. I stopped all manner of hormonal medications when we met, because they royally screwed with my emotions. I wouldn’t want to go through that again. Especially right before the long, dark, cold winter. Brrrr.
And what can Wonderboy do? Well, he’s stopped smoking on my (and the doctor’s) request ( I had to fight him, though, and pull out my hormone injection card before he subjugated) and has started to eat a lot of fruit and berries every day. He’s trying to steer clear of plastic bottles etc, because of the phthalates and their possible effects on sperm, and that’s what he can do. Not much else.
I’m the one getting injections, if we don’t get pregnant with these pills, which I highly doubt. I’m the one being poked with needles to snatch those little bastard follicles. And what does he have to do? Masturbate in a cup!
I’m not really as angry at him as it might sound. I’m just a little disappointed. So many years of fertility testing and treatments and it still all comes down to the woman. Just like birth control.
To make matters worse my therapist is on a vacation next week.
I have decided to be optimistic about this. I have decided to hope. It hurts, it hurts so much to be hopeful and to even face PMS, swelling breasts and tense moods. What about period then? What about the possibility that these hormones don’t work for me? What about… everything?
I can really just try to concentrate on everything else. I have friends, smart, good, loving friends, and my family is supporting me. And I try to be good to Wonderboy. I try to be there for him and make him feel as loved as he did before. I try to forget about it, when we have sex and I try to initiate sex more, even if my feelings are tangled up, so we wouldn’t lose the connection we have entirely. Nothing has really changed. We’re the same as before. We just know more now. In a way it’s a relief to know. Now we can try to do something about it.
But it a very real way… I feel like I’ve been sentenced. I just don’t know what kind of a sentence it’ll be.