Wow, what a week. I’d say it goes down in my personal history as one of the worst. It turns out last week after it rained and poured, it poured a little more. After the not-pregnant followed by ruining the computer incident, our Monday appointment was a downer followed by a few scary/worrisome days and a second huge chunk of money for another unrelated emergency expense. Whew.
We had the saline ultrasound on Monday, one of the few diagnostic procedures we hadn’t yet done. And by we, I mean me but my awesome husband of course was there along for the ride. One of the doctors commented a while back how she loves that he is almost always there with me. I am so thankful for him and for his job that allows for this flexibility. I simply can’t imagine doing many of these things without him. Besides being uncomfortable, it is a whole heck of a lot of information to take in and decisions often have to be made on the spot.
So with this special ultrasound, what they do is fill your uterus with saline to get a better view of it. The doctor didn’t see anything too remarkable, but after reviewing those results and our treatment response to date, he said it’s time to get more aggressive. That is, either laparascopic surgery or IVF. Holy I wasn’t ready for that.
We walked away — and zipped back to work — shocked and numb about this. We’ve had conversations at our kitchen table about it since and it all feels entirely theoretical and detached, as if we’re talking about someone else. Seriously, are we already there? I’m convinced I really just can’t compute that right now, much less begin to make some decision about it. We’ll be consulting with a few other docs in the next week and my hope is that those appointments will begin to help it sink in. It’s such a crazy thing that our minds do, keeping us and our emotions somehow detached from something we know intellectually. I wonder if I — my feelings, my spirit — will ever truly catch up to what we’ve been doing the past year. Once we have a baby in our arms?
I noticed something really odd at the ultrasound. I’ll spare you the details, but let me just say it was painful and the doc had to give it several tries. So I’m lying there, fighting my tears, deep breathing (cf. dissociation with HSG), talking to God, biting my lip, soon enough hiding those tears — pushing through. And I realized that this is what I do. I act strong and push through. I try to do everything, take on the pain, push it aside when I have to go back to work, take on responsibility, keep truckin’ and do life “as normal.” Another form of dissociation I suppose.
But maybe, just maybe, it’s time to do something different. The nurse took notice of my fight and the doctor said, “You have to tell me how you’re doing, my dear!” Right. Acknowledge it, say something. It’s normal, I’m not a weenie. It’s okay.
Just that morning I had begun to seriously consider scaling back with work as I’m feeling so overwhelmed, something I feel a strong internal pushback about. (Note that: internal. Not from anyone else.) It feels to me like not pushing through, like giving into weakness, like taking the easy way out, like letting other people down. But I’m beginning to think that that’s crap.
Maybe I’m not a weenie, maybe this is a lot to handle, and maybe it would be okay to not give everything my all right now. That is nearly impossible for me even to write. So I guess I really am just beginning.
I’m pretty attached to my superwoman cape.