DH is away this week on business, so I am left with blessed silence to contemplate why a grown woman can't play Scrabulous for hours on end. And also, I've been thinking about how to start my play. So I've been reading a few more blogs than usual, so memories and emotions have been washing over me. You can accuse me of staying stuck in the miseries of infertility, but those emotions remind me of how connected we are in this world. Despite maybe not having anything in common at all except infertility, if we cannot empathize with one another, how can we develop our compassion? Behind the safety of anonymity in the world wide web, we reach out across borders and lifestyles hoping that somebody out there in the Ethernet gives a shit. A public Dear Diary. There is so much material out there that I want to include as many aspects of it as I can.
I often wonder if once you become pregnant, you forget all your previous TTC troubles. Surely it's more about moving forward and attending to the incredible situation at hand. I mean, you've got a life (or several) growing in you, who cares about the past sadness when you're sitting in tentative joy. I say tentative because as we all know, it's not just a matter of getting pregnant. It's about staying pregnant and delivering safely. Beta levels, fetal sacs, cramps, the story of what's that on my pantiliner now? When innocence is lost, nothing is taken for granted anymore.
Some women have/had friends who did indeed seem to forget what it's like to be in the trenches. Friendships are lost, misunderstandings abound. Some stop blogging as they adjust to their future as non-moms. Sometimes healing takes years. Others who adopt, have other challenges they have to adapt to. There's the whole adoption triad thing, waiting for all the papers to be signed so you can breathe a sigh of relief, the guilt, the negotiations, the social worker visits, etc. All these transitions, require quite a mental shift. NOW WHAT DO I DO?
Someone wrote about being mad at infertility and asked others to write about what they were pissed about. I actually left a comment because as I was reading, all these emotions came flooding back and all of a sudden I genuinely felt angry and wanted to lash out. Wow. I didn't wake up angry, but there it was. And I'm not even in the game anymore. But there are residual effects, aren't there? It's like herpes. It's the gift that likes to keep on giving and giving and giving. I could have written even a longer list of things that make me mad, but I would still be writing. I can't do anything about the past anymore, it's over, I did my time in therapy and even did some EMDR to get over a particularly nasty and emotional event. I'll keep that anger in the back of my heart and drag it out to fuel my creativity but it won't cause me numbing grief again.
I once had a theme called Million Dollar Baby that my business coach gave me. Well my acting career went in to the toilet as well as my maternity plans. And I guess that's what really got to me. I'd built up my career to a point where I was doing quite well and making a living and then - well to make a long story short - nothing. I had no millions and I had no baby. I lost my confidence, my drive, and I had to develop my notetaking business in order to pay my Visa bill. Not that I was above working a "joe" job, but taking notes is not exactly what I had spent years sacrificing for. I had no degree, no fulfilling career to keep me occupied. I seriously debated going back to school but I couldn't figure out what I could do that would give me a decent income before I got to retirement age. You know those commercials on TV for so and so college where you can be a dental hygienist or medical office assistant in 6 months, I actually considered that. So what if I did some medical office assistant stuff 10 years ago and I thought working for doctors sucked?! Then I could be surrounded by pregnant women all the time! I felt old, broken and yes, bitter. I couldn't even chant anymore. It seemed disconnected somehow. I felt on the verge of my dreams, and then - poof! Whether I had manifested it or not, I struggled to keep my head above water.
This time, last year, I was nursing the effects of the last IVF procedure. I had transferred my last 2 eggs and waited for whatever was going to happen, which was nothing. I was actually surprisingly calm about it. And then I fell apart. And once I pulled it together in a reasonable fashion, I just focused on breathing. Victory, that was good enough for me! My prayers weren't going to be answered in the way I wanted them to be or perhaps it was going to take longer than I had realized. In any case, I knew a negative result was not going to kill me, it just felt like it had. I was breathing but not quite there if you know what I mean. Pretty much like my husband. Not quite there. He was in far, faraway land called Stoner Land. You might have heard of it. I loved him, but I wasn't liking him so much. And apparently he was waiting for the 1995 version of me to show up. Huh. I think this part is going into the play. The NOW WHAT DO I DO, WHO ARE YOU, YOU RED-EYED, STONED, JOYLESS, DECIDELY UNFUCKABLE IN DENIAL LUMP ON THE COUCH WITH PIZZA ON THE COFFEE TABLE AND A LAPTOP HEATING UP YOUR USELESS UTERUS OR PENIS part.
This could be like Angels in America and be done in 2 parts. Maybe 3.