Tuesday, August 10, 2010
My emotional state yesterday reminded me of the day I called my friend M, while sobbing and stuffed into the bathroom at the seamstress shop with my to-be-altered wedding dress, a few weeks before my wedding. “It’s all wrong,” I cried. “We’re supposed to be HAPPY and not arguing! We’re getting married for God’s sake!” After giving me a moment to let it all out, M (in a kind way) laughed at me. “It’s OK,” she said. “This is all normal, I promise.”
She was right.
Yesterday however turned out to be anything but a normal day.
The pregnancy is already over. My number went down.
We questioned if I did too much over the weekend, if the mopping of the floor was too much, if the watering and weeding put me over the edge, if our fight yesterday morning contributed to the lack of peace in my womb. Should I have just sat my butt down, lulled into serenity by a warm blanket, a book and soft kisses?
My man got the call and brought himself to my office to give me the news personally, so we could hold each other. I think he’s tired too.
I’d like to tell you about our adopted embryos. They come from good stock. Junior Olympic swimmer, tennis player, baseball player, healthy, happy. Seemed a totally perfect fit. I’m just so sorry it’s not worked out. I’ve been pregnant 4 times: once 14 weeks, once 7 weeks, once 3 weeks and now 2 weeks. Not sure what we’ll do next. Nothing, something, adoption, use the last 2 embryos we have, I don’t know.
I wonder if our house will be too quiet. I wonder if we need to invite more children into our lives. I wonder if this is how it’s meant to be. I wonder if I’ll mistakenly talk baby talk to a dog, making everyone around me gag. (I promise, I won’t.)
I have to find something good in all this, I just have to.
Infertility treatments and clinics are in the business of hope. For us, nine years and tens of thousands of dollars worth of hope.
“Hope is such a dreadful word.” That’s what an old poet said to me once, on the beach. I think there’s some truth to it.