As I sit in bed typing this, I wish that I had some snappy title to make this post sound exciting. I don’t, nor am I certain what this post will truly be about.
Tomorrow is my first IUI.
I feel like I should be excited, nervously giddy, or completely paralyzed with fear. But I am no where near any of those things. I am completely detached. Which explains why I have tears streaming down my face at this current moment, right? Wrong. I’m not detached. I’m going into self preservation mode and I’m getting the emotional panic out.
Over the last few years, it’s been easier to outwardly act like I didn’t care, because it protected me from having to talk or deal with how I really felt. Flippant remarks and sarcastic comments were my protection. I’d break at home, and crumble into millions of tiny pieces that I’d eventually put back together. Each time though, the reassembly would take longer, and another piece always seemed to go missing. This evening all of my fractured little pieces have been glued together for the umpteenth time, and I’m mentally patching in the pieces that I’ve lost in my invisible armor.
I’m not in control, which is a gargantuan struggle for me. I have no power over this, if I could have willed myself to be pregnant, you wouldn’t be reading this and how boring would that make your lives? I can’t and will not be optimistic. The potential for being crushed is already branded into my head for two weeks from now. We have to solely depend upon others, our Doctor and his staff, for this to happen. (Please remember, I was the child that liked working by myself and didn’t like group work. I wanted to be responsible for my own things, because then I had no one else to blame other than myself.) Now we are dependent upon someone else, who we met just over two months ago to literally change our lives. I have a much harder time with this than my DH.
My train of thought is that it is easier to be level headed and rational. Read as, “if I think it won’t happen, I can’t be disappointed when it doesn’t. If it does happen, HOLY CRAP I’M HAVING A BABY!” I don’t even straddle the line of “what if…”
But let’s go back to the facts, and the black and white stuff: there is a 10-13% chance this will work. That means 1 in 10 women will get pregnant when they do the exact course of treatment that I did. You’d have to be crazy to think “I will be that 1 of 10.” As much as I desperately want to jump up and down and scream from the rooftops, “I will be that ONE!,” I sit here and suffocate any sliver of hope or ounce of optimism that I should (?) have.
To be quite frank, I am not in a good place tonight. That isn’t an accurate statement. I was in a good place until about an hour ago.
I then started to think about tomorrow…
What it could actually mean…
The two very differing types of conversations that could be taking place two weeks from now…
Everything that could go wrong and what would happen if everything went right…
But the happy thoughts hurt the most, and the thinking gets squashed.
So as I get ready to wrap up this horribly written post, know that as of this exact moment, 9:10pm, I’m fully enveloped in my armor. Tomorrow will happen, and the day after that, and the next day after that. I can’t control or stop what is to come. I can only keep moving through whatever happens, and attempt to put forth my best efforts.