This is another month where I have nothing to update, so I'm going to post a story that someone else wrote, because I have often felt the same 'numb' feeling that she describes. I feel it when I go about my ordinary life; I feel it when I hear about couples who started when we did, one-by-one succeeding in their IVFs (or having produced 17 eggs); I feel it co-mingled with the anger that we've done all this hard work and stress with nothing to show for it, that the doors may have snapped shut for me before we ever get to feel triumphant or share any good news. I feel it whenever I think too much about how I don't know what I'm doing, nowadays.
Today was one of those days where I'm having PMS, feeling bloated, heavy and upset because my cycle is crazy off-kilter and very short (20 days) after the last failed IVF, followed by Dr N trying to prolong that cycle to give my ovaries a chance to ovulate from the very delayed and overgrown follicles. I had been sleeping badly for the last three days and I could tell my period was coming by the cramping, staining and extreme bloatedness that I was starting to feel. At the same time, the DHEA has, again, given me rashes of acne and extra weight, so I was sad and cranky overall.
The problem with this cycle being so early is that I realized the next peak period then falls within a time when I was meant to travel for work. So, I have to reschedule, or cancel, on the same day that our boss gave us a pointed lecture about work travel costs, reschedules and the need for early planning. This is the nth time this year that this has happened, a reminder that I don't have control and that I am flaky when it comes to sometimes, even being able to work.
This came on the back of a bad week at work, when I felt torn between trying to answer queries, disappointment and feeling under attack on performance and being on top of things and stressed with trying to leave early to go to acupuncture. It built to a head until I was tearing continuously at my desk. As luck would have it, that was the exact moment when my boss came over to have a two-minute chat about work. He approached from the back and so didn't see my obviously red and swollen eyes until it was too late for us both. It was possibly the only time that his two-minute chat really was two minutes! (And no, it's not funny, but I'm hoping this will be when I look back a year from now).
There are some days where it is hard to hold it together, and this happened to be one of them.
Meanwhile, here is Whitney's story:
The reposted story, "Whitney's story", is summarised here rather than reproduced in full, as it is another blogger's own writing. It opens with Whitney saying she debated sharing the post but is doing so because it has a happy ending. About a year earlier, two days after she started IVF#5, her brother and sister-in-law called on Skype with news: they were pregnant, and they planned to tell the family on Christmas morning. She congratulated them and held it together through the call, then broke down afterwards. She had assumed she would cope because she had been through it herself and they had tried for a long time, but she was wrong — it was very hard, a "perfect storm" of a recent IVF failure, hormones for the next IVF, and someone close to her succeeding. She dreaded Christmas and the big reveal; she woke on Christmas morning feeling ill, convinced the day would be unbearable, and spent it holding back tears in another room while everyone else celebrated. She then realised she was wrong about what was happening to her own body, and — most importantly — that her family understood: in their happiness they had not forgotten her sadness, which she calls the best gift they could have given her that day.
Nine months later, after miscarrying at eight weeks what had seemed their most promising pregnancy, she and her husband were in IVF#6 and knew it was over — they would not try again, and their doctor did not think they should. They were grieving the loss of their fifth baby and of a biological child at all. Then came the call that her sister-in-law was in labour, and all Whitney could think about were the births she never had — all five of them. Her parents went to Philadelphia for the birth; her husband Erick was away for work; no news came for a day, then another, and on the second day she became an aunt. She worried about her sister-in-law Jes and the baby, knowing too much about what could go wrong, and prayed — and realised her outlook had changed: she was excited to be an aunt and could not wait to meet the baby. After three days of labour, an earthquake and a C-section, her niece Avery was born; a photograph arrived and she fell in love instantly — she now had a face and a name. She reflects that a situation that once made her ask "God, why?" can later be seen as part of a plan, though she still does not understand the master plan, and they are still waiting for the grand finale, trying to have faith and hold on to hope. She is thankful for small miracles: Avery has helped to heal her heart — not to fix what is wrong, but to shift something. That Christmas was utterly different from the one before; the family fight over who gets to hold Avery, and Whitney even changes her nappies. She admits she is still not warm and fuzzy with other babies and continues to avoid them — but with Avery, something changed. She closes by hoping and praying that something will shift a little for others who are struggling too.
