I’m sorry I’ve left you all hanging for a week. I honestly haven’t known what to say. How to act. How to exist. For the past 7 days every moment has been full of equal parts hope and dread. Every sentence has ended with, “We’ll know more next Thursday.”
Well, it’s Thursday. And we do know more.
This morning Mr. But IF and I woke at 5AM and drove to the clinic. I was on the table sans pants by 7:15. We saw a gestational sac, yolk sac, and wiggly 6w2d fetal pole at 7:17, and heard the 115bpm thump, thump, thump of the fetal heart at 7:19. (My ultrasound pictures are time stamped. I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to know I’ll always know when we first saw and heard that thump!)
I’m elated. We’re both elated. I’m also a good bit speechless.
After so many years and so many heartaches (including the still painfully fresh memory of hearing a similar thump less than a year ago), I’m gun-shy. I want to cry from sheer joy. I want to truly believe this is happening. I want to be able to start speaking in certainties, start planning the nursery, start enjoying this event that I’ve put so damn much blood, sweat, and tears into for all these many years. And, I really am getting closer. Closer than I’ve ever been, honestly. But, I’m not entirely there yet.
I don’t know what to do with myself. Infertility has been such a huge part of my life. I’m not quite sure who I am when I’m not squaring off with it each and every day. When all that remains is the worry and doubt, but not the tireless attempts to manipulate my body into behaving naturally with drugs, appointments, and prayers. To be frank, I’m not really sure what it is I do around here anymore.
Gushing isn’t appropriate. It still causes me anguish, and it makes me remember all the times my heart broke when I had to hear of others’ (often well-deserved) victories. When you are a member of a group united in the pursuit of a common goal, yet only some have the opportunity to realize that goal, it can make for some balancing. It’s not lost on me that a few months ago I was writing of the pain of coming to grips with a child-free future.
Fretting isn’t right either. I’ve done that. Ad nauseam. It’s a familiar emotion, but it’s not quite accurate either. We have more reason to hope right now than we’ve ever had, and I don’t really want to let that opportunity pass me by. I’ve had such a difficult relationship with hope for so long, I’m ready to start letting it back in, even if just a little bit at a time.
So, at least for a while, I think I’ll default to rote updates. While it seems out of character to divert from tackling difficult emotions head on here (that was the entire reason I started it), it also seems a good bit pointless to try and examine my emotions when I’m not entirely sure what they are. So, in lieu of making things up or allowing this site to disappear into the ether, we’ll stick to the facts.
Fetal pole measuring 6w2d.
Fetal heart rate 115.
Next ultrasound and Intralipids infusion on Wednesday.
I have 800 pieces of candy at home waiting for Trick-or-Treat deluge.