I actually felt kind of nauseous when I was prepping for injections #1 and 2 – in a seriously? I’m here again? kind of way.
After IVF #1 I swore I didn’t have it in me to do it again.
Then, the desire to grow the family was greater than my dread.
So we gave it another go – insisting “this is it” – the end.
Then, well, I couldn’t just leave it where we ended up.
So, here we are. Again.
The reality of it seemed to hit home the hardest when I was cooking up a batch of Luveris in the kitchen, preparing to give myself the first jab. Then the Gonal-F. Then the cleaning up of the crack house debris.
I wonder if people who make babies with sex (novel thought) instill the same sense of importance to the first thrust? I doubt it. They’re probably thinking about whether they look fat. Or if the other person is as into it. Or something. They probably think it’s fun – making a baby. They probably don’t feel nauseous. Unless they had one too many glasses of Chardonnay.
They’re probably not thinking about anything at all.
But that would mean they’re also not thinking about how this exact moment could be the start of a chain of events that changes everything.
Which is what I needed to do to get through. Because a part of me keeps thinking “we weren’t supposed to be here. We were happy. It was supposed to be ok.”
Sure, it wasn’t ok. But I need to remember that doesn’t mean it won’t be this time.
I need to think about whether these bruises make me look fat. Or if I look hot holding a syringe. I need to think about nothing at all.
I need to think that this could be the start of something that changes everything.
In a good way.