I took a pregnancy test yesterday morning. Don't get excited - it was negative. I really didn't think that I would see more than one line, but AF is two days late, and I wanted to drink coffee and alcohol guilt-free. Also I think I'm coming down with an infection (awesome) and I didn't want to worry about scrambling our egg with meds- if you know what I mean. And of course, I know you always do.
I keep all of my TTC paraphernalia in a small storage box in my bathroom linen cabinet, and since January it has been tucked away on the bottom shelf, all the way at the very back. I had to get down on my hands and knees just to reach it. And when I finally pulled it out, it took me a good minute before I could actually open it. I suddenly felt very aware that I was on my hands and knees. Being in that vulnerable position, with that box, and everything it represented instantly flooded my mind with images of the person I used to be.
First the good memories; what it felt like the first time I took a pregnancy test out of that cabinet. The excitement, the realization that I was a grown woman, married, and ready to start my own family. The positive OPK's, and how fun it was to make love because we thought we were creating our family. Then slowly the bad memories crept in; the countless tests with single lines. The disdain I felt for the Dixie cups I used to collect my first morning's urine. The frustration of deciphering how dark the line was on the Internet cheapie OPK. The tears that flowed as I slammed that box back in to the cabinet after yet another BFN. And let us not forget the thousands of calories that I consumed to try to ease the pain. Followed by the deepest depression I've ever known.
I could feel my breath quicken, and I suddenly wanted nothing to do with that box. I haven't looked at it in eight long months. No hpt's not opk's, for the better half of 2010. I was different person last time I saw that box - if I opened it again what would that make me? Is this the beginning of the end of the peace that I've found from our eight month respite? When we move forward with IVF in January, will I lose sight of the strength and balance I've worked so hard to regain?
I read so many of the ALI community's blogs, and I ache as I see some of you in that place where I spent so much of 2008, and 2009. Knee deep in the trenches, overwhelmed with frustration and desperation. But still without the slightest waiver of determination in the quest to become a mother.
In the same distinctive way that some feel lucky to have been dealt the challenge of infertility, myself included, I feel lucky that we didn't have the money to jump right into IVF. Because I wouldn't have had that time to heal so many of the battle wounds, to free myself from the reigns of depression, to loose the 30lbs I gained from eating my feelings. To see how unhealthy I was, and how toxic my addiction to TTC had become to my marriage.
At the end of this month I will attend a seminar given by the man who will most likely become our new RE. And four days after that we'll have phone meeting to get us started on our path to IVF early next year. I feel nothing but bliss with the thought of me possibly being pregnant this time next year, but I'm terrified of losing myself again in the mix of all of it. It's just too damn easy to get swallowed up in the whole process. Expectations vs Results, Realism vs Negativity; I'm four months away from all of it, and already I feel like my strategy's are bullshit.
How did you cope? Did you have plans in place to help manage stress?