This Could Be the End of Everything

Tuesday, September 7th.

This could be the end of everything. Everything as we know it, that is.

38 months, collectively, of trying (& failing) to conceive. THIRTY. EIGHT. MONTHS. We tried for 9 months before finally getting pregnant. That miracle ended in miscarriage by our first appointment. When we were supposed to hear the heartbeat. Instead, we heard a lot, a lot, A LOT of excruciating silence. Silence is NEVER good. All your “ridiculous” fears are solidified in that silence. We didn’t know that silence could be so very loud. All of this went down the Thursday before Mother’s Day. When we were going to announce to our family…And, understandably, we had to do repeat blood tests to confirm Baby G #1 wasn’t viable. Which meant going almost 2 weeks walking, talking, & quacking like a preggo; all while knowing deep down inside that I wasn’t a preggo.

Ugh.

It’s all bad.

But, back to the future. Or…err…present.

Anyway…fast forward to today. The appointment went great. My doctor actually said the word great & added that everything looked excellent. I have 7-8 follicles. My body is clearly responding very well to the meds. Yay! Doc said if he to guess today, I’d have my egg retrieval next Tuesday. In one week. SEVEN days. Woosh. Woof. We will do shots tonight to finish up the last of this cartridge of my follicle stimulating hormone (I am taking follistim) & start a new one to get me up to my daily dosage of 200 IU. Tomorrow night, I will add the antagonist (Ganirelix) to my nightly regiment. The antagonist is added after my follicles are appropriately stimulated in order to ensure that I do not ovulate on my own too early. Before they are ready, or want to, do my egg retrieval. It’s all a balancing act of meds, hormones, & action! We go back Saturday to confirm the date of the egg retrieval. This is also known as the “teaching day” where they will educate us on all things egg retrieval – & I’m hoping the steps after (petri dish phase, I call it) & embryo transfer, too!

Again, woosh. Woof. It’s…a LOT. Honestly, I feel like we’ve been standing still. In the eye of a hurricane. Completely immobile, unmoving, unchanging, & quiet. Or, silenced, rather. Everyone else has just been moving forward in their lives, whether easily or with some strain & effort. We’re silenced & unable to interact with the rotating storm of people moving on around us. Screaming for help, love, attention, support. God, ANYTHING. Couldn’t everyone see how much we struggled? How much we have? And still do? We just want what they have. And not just to join in…because my GOD we want to be parents. So, so, SO damn badly.

This has also just been an incredibly isolating experience. We had the unique…pleasure…of dealing with infertility after loss pre & amidst pandemic. They both held their challenges, but the isolation of social distancing on top of the isolation that loss & infertility brings was almost insurmountable for us. Our relationship & marriage have been tested in ways I never imagined, & I truly wouldn’t wish on anyone in the entire universe. It was one of the many things that loss & infertility has robbed us of. Certainty, steadfastness, & surefootedness. It almost robbed us of the one thing we’ve never, ever, EVER questioned or had to even think about questioning: US. I’m incredibly proud of what my husband & I have overcome & where we are now. It’s even further proof to me that we are meant to be. Soulmates. Whatever his soul is made of & blah blah blah all that other mushy, gushy crap.

I am feeling so very hopeful. And, to be quite honest, that scares the absolute sh!+ out of me. Why? Well, because: 38 months, y’all. That’s a long time to be going through what we have, & still are, going through. A successful pregnancy doesn’t erase the pain of infertility or loss. This much I have learned from other warrior women who have also been forced to walk this terrible path.

One on hand it’s like “FINALLY!” & on the other it just doesn’t feel real. In the moments of vacillating between hopefulness & mitigating that hope with reality, I just feel silly for even feeling hopeful. But what other choice do we (meaning myself & my husband, as well as so many others also facing & going through this as well) have? It’s sort of along the same line, or in the same vein, as what I feel when people tell I’m strong, brave, courageous, or stronger than I think, etc. What other choice is there but to get up & face the day, the reality of your life, & the situation that you’re in? Being unalive? Believe me I’ve had feelings of major doubt, depression, & wanting to be…unalive…but ultimately I chose to face it. I don’t feel brave & I truly don’t believe that facing all of this made me brave. You’ve got one of two options: be alive & face it, or…don’t. AKA: be unalive.

Okay. So, to translate that to this: what other choice do we have except to be hopeful?

No other choice.

This is it.

Because this could really be the end of everything we know.

Insane. Totally insane.

And if you have a minute, why don’t we go /

Talk about it somewhere only we know? /

This could be the end of everything /

So why don’t we go somewhere only we know? /

Somewhere only we know.

Keane “Somewhere Only We Know.”