No kidding, right?
I think that’s perhaps what I’ve been going through in this 4th round. I’ve not forgotten completely, but largely put aside the memory of trying to conceive a child with my own eggs. My assumption is that hey, they’ve left the building, nothing more I can do to make that a reality. And after three unsuccessful transfers with a donor egg embryo, which we all think is going to be a slam dunk, here we are, a week out from transferring not one but two embryos into me and crossing our fingers and toes.
So because of that, we are living each day acknowledging the past without dwelling on it, trying new things, and doing our best to focus on being mindful and stay in the present as much as possible. It ain’t easy, but it’s worth a try.
One year ago we kicked off treatment at this particular clinic. Yet I swear to god, today’s T-V ultrasound for Round 4 is the first time I can admit I’ve actually seen my uterus on the monitor. Heh. Dan sees it every time we have one but for the life of me I just have played along pretending to know what the hell is on the screen. 🙂 My uterus is retroflexed which means it’s doing a bit of a backbend in there (which goes to normal they say if/when you get pregnant). Ahh, nice to know they weren’t all kidding me about seeing something there the prior million times. Talk about blind faith.
Anyhow, my lining is a bit over 7mm (the minimum it needs to be) with another week to continue to build up so he said it all looks good and we’re right on track for next Thursday’s transfer. I still get a bit anxious though as there’s nothing like Dr Google to get you comparing your lining with that of others. Hell, we’re talking about millimeters. But I’m just keepin’ on keepin’ on. I can’t drop the 40 lbs I gained over this past year of effed up stress levels, I can only focus on caring for my mental, physical and emotional as I stand here this moment. I have to forgive myself for the past emotional eating and concentrate on acceptance, nurturing, optimism and love. It’s all I’ve got.
Bright and early tomorrow morning my daily PIO booty shots begin along with 5 days of twice-daily prednisolone. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. In 15 days, we will know if it’s the end of the road, or just the beginning.
A Window Opens A Bit Further
So yesterday I saw my mom for the first time in 6 1/2 years. I was pretty chill all week and the morning of, my heart raced like I’d downed two double espressos.
She arrived and was so much smaller. Maybe that’s what happens with all of our parents, but she seemed smaller, frail, I don’t know. She’s 75 and has lost a lot of weight. This was a woman who had a booty back in the day, and now just ate one small pancake with some applesauce on it. I flit about in entertainer mode, showing her around the house and gardens, serving breakfast, and my husband showing her the beehive. It was two hours, a start, and at the end I walked her over to get some Reiki to help soothe her in her grief. We met her afterwards at the cafe for tea and she was mellow. My husband expressed his condolences and she teared up, saying she saw bits of her beloved in other people, including him. She was vulnerable. She said a brief ‘love you’ as she said goodbye. In an email later that day she said she was glad to see me so happy with my husband and thanked me for my help as I’d suggested the Reiki, encouraged her toward acupuncture, and sent her information on volunteering with the local schools. She said I was ‘a sweetheart’.
I’m intrigued at those words, this new vulnerability, this person wrapped in the package of my mother but in many ways quite different. I am watching, quietly, because these are words I’ve not heard, compliments I’ve never received. Nothing was said about how I looked, my weight, my hair, nothing on the outside that I was used to her focusing on for, well, forever. Gunshy, yes I am. But intrigued still. As I told my counselor last week, sometimes going through this process, we just need to feel mothered, and I have chosen to be brave and open to possibilities I once never thought, well, possible.
So who knows, maybe I’ll believe in the possibility of miracles. Maybe I’ll make her a grandmother, my husband a father, myself a mother. Maybe.