October 5th, 2009

Fred got Grace to bed early tonight; this is day 2 of me not putting her down for a nap. My baby girl is growing up. Man she is a GOOD girl. :)

Anyway, Fred and I were talking in peace and quiet this evening. It began with a conversation about Facebook—I told him that if this “worked” I would never want to mention “it” on Facebook. It is far too personal. He then said “Have you thought about what you would want to tell our baby about his or her conception if this works? Have you thought about how we should tell Grace?” I told him I thought we could tell Grace that mommy’s tummy is broken and it can’t grow any more babies in it, so Jamie is growing mommy and daddy’s baby for us in her belly since it works so well. (What a story that will probably make at pre-school circle time! Yikes!!!) Then I told Fred that we could tell the baby something similar as he or she grew up, but that when they were old enough we would give him or her this journal I have been working on. Hopefully this journal will help explain everything. (Fred had no idea I was writing in this journal, so I asked him if he would like me to read it to him. He said yes, and so I did.)

While reading this out loud to him tonight, I cried. I cried hard. It wasn’t until tonight when I was actually opening up by reading my past journal entries to Fred that I realized how much I’ve bottled up all of my emotions. I’m sure it is a defense mechanism. I couldn’t function properly if I allowed myself to think about the gravity of this daily. Life must go on…

I know my emotions scared Fred. He watched me crash and burn last spring when the first IVF didn’t work. I am sure he is terrified of it happening again. Last time I tried to pick myself right up, and I did—for about 2-3 days. Then, as my hormones crashed, so did I. I cried. To be perfectly honest, I cried daily for two months straight. That is a lot for someone who very rarely ever cries. This was one of the very hardest times of my entire life—right there next to losing my father after a sudden fall. Seeing my own dad taken off life support was the only other time I have ever cried like that. Tonight I allowed myself to feel that pain again—that very raw emotion. I again felt like I had a bowling ball caught in my throat. I again felt like I had 10,000 heavy rocks on my chest. I again felt like every ounce of wind was knocked out of me. This is why I try not to think about what we are about to do again. This is why I cannot let myself get excited about the possibility of a different outcome. This is why I am absolutely terrified—scared to death of it not “working” again. I have pulled myself out of that dark hole twice now—when my dad died in 2001, and again last spring when my “babies” didn’t make it. Can I do it again? Please God, please don’t make me go through that again. Please…I’m begging you.

Today is October 5th. Today marks exactly 6 months since our last embryo transfer. Today we were examined from head to toe to make sure that we are healthy enough to go ahead with this. Today marked the last “step” prior to our embryo transfer. Besides getting our blood drawn, finding out our body mass index, weight, blood pressure, etc., we got to answer a million more personal questions. Questions like: Have you gotten a tattoo in the last 6 months? Gotten your ears pierced? A million health questions too—seriously, so many. Then they examined Fred and I to confirm that we do not have any sexually transmitted diseases. There is nothing like being infertile, giving up on your body that has failed you after years of being poked and prodded, and then still being required to have a pelvic exam. Anyway, it is now done.

Prior to writing in this journal tonight, but following my discussion/journal reading with Fred, I took a long bath. I was visited by Fred and he brought to my attention that I woke at 6 am and took a bath and now at 9 pm, I’m taking another. It made me realize how tired I am of all of this—how wound up I am—how much I need a bath these days to just relax and think. During Fred’s visit I told him how much the pelvic exam today bothered me. The irony of it. It is almost like being poked fun of, quite literally… He then told me that if I wrote about it in this journal tonight, he wanted me to add that he too was “examined” and that he had to “cough” while the doctor checked him out. He was “poked fun of” too. He asked that I also add that the doctor made sure to tell him what perfect health he is in. :)

I asked him, more seriously, what he would like me to write in here about how he is really feeling… He said, as his eyes lit up, “Excited.” So, there you have it. Fred is excited and I am scared to death. Prepare for the worst; expect the best. I think that’s how the saying goes. I got my hopes up WAY too high 6 months ago today. Hopefully this time it will be the other way around. I’ve always been a cup half full person that was full of faith and optimism… I sure hope “that” Amy returns soon. I sure do miss her. 11 days until the embryo transfer… 11 days.