When we got back home yesterday, I withdrew to take a shower. Maybe it’s because I was raised in a house where no one respected privacy and I never got to have a room for myself, but I always retreat to the shower when I’m really sad. Sure enough after a couple of minutes I started to cry. Not thinking about it seems not to be an option.
Wonderboy had been doing the dishes. In the middle of my crying he knocked on the door and came to the bathroom, although I didn’t answer anything to his knock. I just wanted to be left alone. He was all normal and I felt my heart had been ripped out of my chest, once again. He wanted to kiss me and I wouldn’t. I know this is a way for him to seek some kind of emotional certainty, but I was angry at him for not letting me have a private moment, although he knew all the circumstances. He just couldn’t leave me alone, because he knew I was sad. He had to be there, making sure what was happening.
Not everything is something you can share. There’s also the very personal experience, the losing of a baby I had to face that he was not facing. I had stopped the progesterones on Saturday night because of the periods, and that makes my whole body and mind change so drastically. It’s hard to adapt to, and even harder when you’re hurting like hell, bleeding and know exactly what it means.
When I came out of the shower, I asked Wonderboy to stop playing the guitar. It felt like he was mocking me, and the sadness. He was able to do stuff he’d normally do and I wasn’t. I was, once again, the only one devastated by this. Wonderboy couldn’t have reacted in a better way. He chipperishly agreed to put the guitar away and asked me if I’d come and cuddle with him. As I couldn’t answer him anything and didn’t really feel like cuddling at all he asked me again a couple of times.
And so I gave in. I went to the bed, cold streams still running from my hair and I let him take me into his arms. I began to cry again.
You can cry as much as you need, Wonderboy said. He caressed me and held me really close. He kept trying to say little consoling things like how far we’d come, and how it could work the next time. All I could think about was that it hadn’t really worked this time either. The embryo should’ve been 8 cells, and it was only 4. It was the only one to make it. That doesn’t sound like a super outcome to me – unless it results in a pregnancy.
I felt unsure if I could hang on to the hope for another year of this. I was wondering should we really be trying the donator sperm on some of the eggs just to know what could happen.
When I asked Wondeboy how he felt, he answered, sad, but also hopeful. Maybe I could feel that way too if I wasn’t the one carrying this all in my body. Wonderboy did come out of the bathroom looking real worried. I had flushed the toilet, but I hadn’t checked it out after, and I had apparently lost so much blood that the water in the toilet was still rich with blood. Wondeboy came to hug me and kiss me.
My baby’s losing so much blood, he said to me and hugged me tighter. I guess it’s easy to be all hopeful and serene, if you don’t really have to face the blood and the pain and the reality of what’s happened. What we lost.
We didn’t really lose anything, he’d said a while earlier.
Yes, we did. We lost our baby, I said.
And then I cried again.
What will we do if nothing works? What will we do after next year?
I don’t know, he answered.
I don’t know either, I said.
We’ll have a break, he said.
A break? We won’t have a break! This has been nothing but breaks!
So, we will go get more treatments? he asked.
Did he really think we wouldn’t?
Well, we won’t get children, if we don’t, I answered.
Then we’ll have to start skimping on everything. It’s only a year away. It’s not a lot of time to save money.
This was the first time, I think, he took this seriously. I’ve been thinking about the years to come for a longer while now – he’s just been concentrating on the next time. The IVF’s will work, he still thinks. And they might. But they might not. I didn’t say anything about donors. I’ve had that talk many times already. But that’s what I’m considering, if next year won’t bring any change. I don’t want to, but I do. This is something I won’t take a break from. This is something I can’t compromise. So, there needs to be a way, if this doesn’t work.
I hope it works, though. I really do. But even the fantasies of our kids are slipping away. I have a hard time imagining myself as a mom. I have a hard time imagining myself as pregnant or with a child. And I have such a hard time sitting in the bus or waiting in line at the grocery store when other people’s kids wail and cry and laugh and talk. I have a hard time seeing pregnant women. Next week we’ll find out if my work mate’s 2.nd IVF treatment got her pregnant. I’m dreading it. Of course I hope happiness for them, but it would be so hard to handle, seeing her every day, knowing it isn’t me.
I hope it is me sometime.
This morning Wondeboy just dashed to work, not giving me a second glance or a hug as he usually does. We did cuddle for a while when we were still in bed, looked into each other’s defeated eyes and hugged tight. Maybe his sadness is different. Maybe he wants to – and can – escape it. I was left here alone, writing, before I have to go to work too. I also had to let our doctor know we didn’t succeed. They have to start filing papers to transfer us to where we live now. We have no idea how that’s going to work and how long it’ll take. I have no idea about anything. Just a little hope.