Roller Coasters

Thank you. I’m surprised at the impact your comments have had. As we decided to tell very few people about our attempts to have a child, there aren’t many people to offer support this month when we aren’t having one.

So many personal things happen that you just don’t talk about at work, or with casual friends. Sure, you tell your boss when your grandmother dies and you’ll be out of town for a funeral, but if your cat is sick, it doesn’t carry quite the same public weight. Privately, you can still feel devastated, but it doesn’t telegraph to acquaintances and coworkers in a way that makes you feel better. This is one of those things.  I know their remarks would all be positive – good luck next time, next month will be your month, I’m so sorry – but I was so happy today that I didn’t have to reconcile the weight of their words with the lump sinking through me to the ground. Incidentally, the two people that do know said those same things but it hurt more than expected. It was welcome, but it was also a reminder of failure.

Failure is such a loaded word. It’s deceptively simple. The rocket failed to launch. But for me, it always goes to a place of personal responsibility. The rocket failed to launch because I didn’t plan for rain and I forgot to put rocket fuel in the tank and I didn’t tell the pilot where the ignition was. I don’t think you’d ever say I am easy on myself.

This tendency must be hard to live with. I know it makes it hard for me to accurately express how I’m feeling without projecting any fault. I don’t want D to feel like she could have done anything differently, like she has any room to improve, like she is responsible for the way things turned out. Meanwhile, I’m still personally questioning the outside variables, wondering what was out of place, what was mistimed and whether I should have been visualizing the egg implanting so soon. Perhaps I discouraged it from doing anything at all.

I realize that conception isn’t a science with a particular, predictable formula. Hinged onto ‘egg meets sperm’ are so many variables that the formula becomes unrecognizable. If it were easy, everyone who wanted to be would be pregnant. Maybe it would be simpler to have a condition to blame, some sort of thing that medicine could fix. On the other hand, maybe that would just highlight the misery this time each month.

So we stand here. Fourteen days. No period, at least nothing typical. Slim smears of pink for the last five days. Two negative tests, one today and one a couple of days ago. Waiting for the flood of blood so that we can get on with counting toward ovulation. And then we’re going to the amusement park.

2 Responses

  1. *hugs* Not knowing is the worst, the waiting for things to get on with it already, one way or the other, so you can either be happy or try again. This nebulous never-never land of no period and negative results is so confusing. And the subject is so taboo that you can’t talk to anyone, and if you do, they don’t know what to say.

  2. […] that is crowding the bottom of my fridge (this will greatly improve the start of the NFL season).  We’re going to the amusement park.  And, happily, the days have been much less stressful now that I’m not asking for constant […]

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