Prickly

Earlier this week I had an icky day.

I started my day by facing the scale and discovering that I'd gained ten lbs since February, since our last transfer. Between the loss, pesach, stress, and lack of caring, the weight just creeped on. I carry it well and my clothes hide it, but it disgusted me. I worked so hard to drop each pound and they just came right back as soon as I lost focus. The nutella train needs to stop. Back to counting calories. I text my husband the abysmal news and vow to start meal planning again.

Then as I get dressed for the day I have a hard time looking in the mirror: my skin looks pale and blotchy, my teeth aren't as white as I'd like them to be, I can't get my hair to sit right. I give up and get myself to work with a lame calorie-counted lunch.

Most of the morning goes by in a blur. On my mind is the stress that my husband needs to be seen by the pcp for his pre-op appointment. During his appointment I get text updates that the pcp office doesn't know why he's there and where's the paperwork with the checklist of what the urologist requires for his pre-op. As they figure it out at the doctor's office, I have an unusually quiet day. Usually people at work are bothering me: needing things, asking questions, calling me, sending me emails, coming over to chat. But on that day, some people were out, some were stuck in meetings, some were just busy on their own. For me it meant productivity. I turn my phone off and focus all my energy on getting work done. I get caught up from weeks of being behind due to brain fog and distraction. Once my phone is back on I get updated that they figured their shit out at the doc's office. I also get updated about a playdate happening among friends on maternity leave together. (Moms who have been so protective of their babies that just the week prior they weren't comfortable having other people hold them but were clearly now ok with toddlers being near them. Whatever.)

By the time I get home, I'm spent and have no energy to make dinner or even talk. But it's not over yet. I still have to wait for sunset and make my way to the mikvah. I don't want to. The whole concept, in theory, is beautiful and I follow it because it's a mitzvah. In reality it's a pain in the neck. My usual evening has me in PJs in bed by 7 these days, no matter how light it is outside. Being dressed and having to go somewhere past that is just one big fat NOPE. But I did.

I got to my prep room and thought about all the things that were bothering me. I wanted to but I couldn't cry. Maybe I've already cried all the tears I had. It upset me that I didn't belong at that playdate. It upset me that my husband had to take time off work for a pre-op appointment; that he even has to have an op. It upset me that I had to deal with months of waiting before we can even try again, all the while feeling my biological clock hammering away getting ever closer to that AMA stamp on my medical chart. It upset me that I had applied for a job and never heard back. It upset me that it feels like everyone around me is so busy with their own life that they don't have time to check in. It upset me that I didn't feel like myself: who is this sad girl looking back at me in the mirror? Where is the ambitious, social, active, happy person I was 10 years ago? Probably somewhere still in there, treading water in the overflowing pool of uncried tears.

These thoughts were swirling in my mind as I got ready. I called the attendant and when she came I smiled and greeted her as usual. As I went in to the pool something new happened and I started feeling a sensation of drowning. By the final dunk I was fully panicked but held it together until I got back to my room. That's when the tears started. I was full on sobbing about all the things that bothered me. About how we can't have a "normal" life and no matter what we do we're just constantly thinking about this challenge, even when we're otherwise engaged or happy about something else - it's literally always on my mind. I don't want it to overtake my entire being but it has and I didn't even realize it. In the back of my mind I remembered that I need to clear out the room for the next person and started getting dressed but kept pausing when the heaving sobs took over.

I took a few minutes to daven while I tried to compose myself. I prayed for the strength to get through the next few months, whatever they may bring. For courage to get through the surgery and however many IVFs are ahead; for patience during the recovery period; for calmness while we wait for the specialist. For success. For finances. For progress. For luck. And after that I prayed for wisdom to know when to stop trying. And for peace with that decision if it ever needs to be made. It was the first time I think I admitted to myself that it may be necessary to one day consider that, as much as I fear it, and maybe in a way asking for permission to get off the nightmare rollercoaster. Maybe just knowing it's an option to stop helped. Maybe it was admitting that we may eventually have to was what helped me calm down but it worked and I got out of there. I came home and got a hug from my husband. Everything started looking up.

The next day I felt infinitely better. Maybe it was necessary to go through that uncomfortable, prickly, distressed day to come to terms with accepting where we are and what we're facing. It's still going to be an uphill battle, we know that. Trying means risking another loss; we know that too. It's the scary unknowns and the lack of guarantees that adds extra stress to the whole process.


As hard as it is, and as much effort as it take to just get up and out every day, I know I can make a difference in my happiness by making choices that lead there. It's a work in progress.


Shabbat shalom.