Sunday, June 9, 2013

Faith, Denial, Hope or Despair

Otherwise known as someone has to be on the wrong end of a "great chance".

We got the call Friday afternoon. My quantitative HCG test was negative. More accurately, the value was less than 1, but effectively that's negative.I go in Wednesday for a consult on whether anything else needs to be done before we move on to round 2 with the frozen back-up team.

I spent the last week searching for some sort of sign - I should have felt differently, I should have "known". Any time you get a bunch of women together on the internet talking about pregnancy or trying to conceive, there's always the contests - who knew the exact moment that implantation occurred - no hints from a little bit of spotting, oh no, that's too obvious - but they felt it. Suddenly their life took on an beatific glow, and before they could take the time to drive down to the 24-hour pharmacy there was enough HCG flowing through their system that a single drop of urine would produce an unquestionable double line on the test.

You know what? They're full of shit. Sure, some women, even some women I know, experience some early symptoms, but not everyone does. Others do only through the rosy-pink glasses of confirmation bias. Others, though I find it nearly equally as incredulous, never know they're pregnant until they're about to deliver. Everyone's experience is different.

I know, though, that for at least a day or two, I had two viable embryos inside me.

I suspect the one on the left was our little over-achiever - the one that made 9 cells by day 3. I don't know why neither of them "stuck" - and I don't think that anyone will ever be able to tell us why. There were some things that the doctor may want to investigate in some manner, that's what the consult on Wednesday is about.

My husband held me while I cried - and then told me that there was no need for despair, because the back-up team in the deep freeze would do fine and in another month-ish I'd be pregnant. He had faith.

I had hope, and what it got me was another kick in the gut. Faith only seems to delay the inevitable disappointment. I suppose that firmly believing something will be true will make you happy while you wait, it could forestall any angst in the mean time, but is that really better?

Anxiety isn't fun. Though the Man does sometimes tease me about not being happy unless I have something to worry about, I don't really believe that's true. I need to guard my heart. We made the decision to move forward with this, knowing that the 80-90% chances we were quoted were good. But I also know there's no guarantee that we'd be one of those 8 or 9 out of 10 - that we could just as easily be part of the 2 - or even the single 1.

I need to know, that even if we're not successful with the reserve team that everything will be OK. Right now, I'm having a hard time imagining the finality of "no more chances". Well, I can certainly imagine that outcome, but I can't imagine what I'll actually do with myself.

For over 7 years now, we've been trying in one way or another. The interventions we had shortly after we got together, the time it took for us to decide that we'd become foster parents, the training, the waiting. The wonderful time we did have in that experience, and the stark disappointments of the reality of the whole process. The nightmare, the fallout. Hearing that my WLS may improve fertility, realizing that in terms of motherhood I'm fucking old.

I don't know what to do with myself. Almost everything has been cleared out of the bedroom the girls used to share. The only remnants are the shelves he put up, the chest of drawers in the closet, and the framed pictures of J up on one of the shelves. I had to put down the pictures of T, but I've been able to enjoy the pictures of J for what they are. But today I'm tempted to put them away, or close the door again. The black hole that hides behind two sheets of wood and a couple of hinges. It was closed for the better part of a year. We've been waiting to replace the guest bed until after we knew we'd need a new crib or not.

Part of me wants to be able to have hope, to have faith that the universe isn't so cruel as to say no to us again. I'll admit that a larger part of me right now says that to believe so is only to be in denial.

Maybe that room should be closed - otherwise it's where hope will go to die.

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