I have not been posting often lately, but do not think I am gone. I’m here, still climbing up from this well of misery the latest failed ivf-attempt brought.
It’s silly really, how thin-skinned I get. A single word of critique or insult has me breaking down in tears. The slightest bit of stress makes my heart pound at double speed. I’m fragile, so damned fragile.
I hate being fragile.
I hate a great many things about me, really, but that’s one of the aspects that causes me the most trouble.
See now, this post wasn’t meant to be about such things, but here I am anyway. Falling right back into the well of self-pity that I detest so much.
Actually I meant to write something about faith, and of the path I am called to walk down. I meant to tell you more of She that is the Night Sky, of what She has taught me, of what I see in Her. But I can’t. As I sit down by the computer to write I feel it with overwhelming clarity: This I am not to speak of. You learn it yourself, or you don’t.
It’s surprisingly difficult not to speak of. I suppose there is still a childish part of me that wants to run up to mum and shout “look what I found!” It’s the same impulse now, only in a more adult context. Wanting to share what I’ve seen and learned.
Ghraourgh. Enough. It is time for bed, the dreams await. Good night!
I am not doing great. It is Friday and I should be happy for the upcoming weekend, for the summer warmth and for the chance to simply hang out with my husband. To enjoy the garden, cuddle the cats, keep writing, keep working on that embroidery too that I’m so proud of.
Instead I just hurt. I cry. I do my job but without pleasure, with every minute stretching out to last an hour.
By necessity I am trying to face and accept the possibility that we won’t ever have a child. Wondering when to say stop, when to give up, when to decide that it won’t happen. But that acceptance does not come easy. The questions hover over me like a dark cloud, blocking out the sun.
I’m not doing great. It hurts, badly.
I am bleeding. For once the physical pain of menstrual cramps is a welcome one, as it serves to temporarily dull the grief and heartache.
This body of mine.
I hate it.
I woke up in the darkness of night with a funny feeling. A funny wet feeling. SHIT, I thought, I’ve started bleeding.
So I hopped up to the bathroom to check. No blood. The wetness, I don’t know what that was, something clear/white. Perhaps remnants of the pills I shove up there three times a day, hormone stuff to make things uh, better? I really don’t know what it does. The clinic never really said. They just gave pills and said here, use these. And I’m a good girl who does as she is told, at least in this context.
My lower abdomen aches as it so often does right before I start menstruating.
I don’t think I’m pregnant this time either.
On a brighter note, remember the blade I mentioned buying? I held a little ceremony last night to symbolically tie it to myself, make it mine and only mine. Even beforehand I felt energy rising, and once it was time I was just in the right mindset.
It wasn’t dramatic. But it was beautiful. Even though I was a little clumsy in certain aspects of the procedure, it went well and left me with a feeling of calm certainty and strength.
It also made it clear to me how much I have to learn. Not through books and articles, but through doing. I learn the most there, at the shrine or during meditation and ritual. Not merely trial and error in a practical sense, but in a spiritual one too. Each experience allowing for a step forward. I am curious to see where it will lead.
Six eggs they took out of me on monday.
Three managed to get fertilized.
One got put back inside me.
It is time for the devastating waiting game again. June 11th is when I am to take a pregnancy test. Time again to try and not get my hopes up, while not succumbing to hopelessness. It’s not easy, it really is not easy. I cried like a baby today, so certain that it would not work. Somehow my mood lifted a little when seeing the little blob through a microscope, seeing it still alive. I’ll try not to cry any more now, it does no one any good. One might be enough.
Yesterday I spread my legs before a team of medical professionals and in a haze of morphine had a big needle stuck inside me. Six eggs they managed to suck out of me.
If all looks good they’ll be putting a fertilized egg back in already tomorrow afternoon.
Dare I hope this time?
I just want to cry today. Hide in a corner, avoid the world, and cry my eyes out.
I blame the hormone injections.