Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Check. And Check.

Crying at work. Check!
Period shows up. Check!
Baseline blood draw. Check!

Finally, my period decided to make an appearance today. In honor of
the occasion, I've had my blood drawn for a baseline check. Further
instructions to follow tomorrow.

And I have indeed cried at work, though luckily there was almost no
one to witness it. Only the PG lady in my office.
Really, she's very nice, and apart from the baby on board top, I can't
*reasonably* hold anything against her.
It would have been great to have been PG together, because we're on
the same wavelength about many things.
As taste in maternity wear goes, I remember having one of those belly
bands with baby feet on them (in my defense, they were a gift).

Unreasonably though, she symbolizes what I long for most at the moment
and that is hard to be around.

What sparked the tears, is this question: "Is there really no hope left?"
An excellent question, but one that I found impossible to answer out of hand.

Can I absolutely guarantee that continued treatment will not work?
No, I can't. This is precisely why I'm inclined to continue.

But does that mean I have hope left? No, I don't. Not right now in any case.

Some people, even IF people, seem to think you have to hope in order
for ART to work. Maybe they're right, and I'm wrong. But frankly, the
suggestion makes me angry. It implies that our failures are really my
own fault.

Feeling hopeful isn't something I control. Either I do, or I don't.

I believe that you have to make it to transfer. And then nature has it's way.

Linnea is her adorable 3yo self. Each night I sneak into her room to
look at her and give her a kiss. It's an indulgence, since I risk
disturbing her sleep, but it gives me a much-needed boost.

The thought popped into my head that giving her a sibling is only the
second-most thing I want in the world.
What I want most is for Linnea to live long - and prosper. What alarms
me most is the realization of how little control I have to make this


At 17 February, 2011 00:20, Blogger BigP's Heather said...

I don't think you have to have hope. I think it makes it easier a bit to not have hope sometimes. I had a few without hope and when they didn't work (I am NOT saying they didn't work cause I didn't have hope. They didn't work because my lining was too thin because of Clomid.) it made the results easier to handle. But for me, that was a very dark time so when someone else says they don't have hope my mind immediately associates them with having a dark time and that makes me sad...

So me wanting them to have hope = me not wanting them in that dark space where I used to reside. If any of that made sense.

And when I tell people I have hope for them, it is me shining some light there way to help them through the dark time.

Cause I love you. I don't want you to feel alone and in a dark place. I'm here with ya.

(I realize you did NOT say you were in a dark place - this is just how things play out in my mind.)

At 17 February, 2011 01:21, Blogger Hopeful Mother said...

I'm sorry you're hurting. Wish those constant reminders could be ignored.

At 17 February, 2011 02:33, Anonymous Anonymous said...

I don't think you have to hope for things to work. Hope doesn't change the outcome in the least bit.

It is possible that a transferred embryo could decide to stick around and you know that. I just wish that there was a way to determine how to make that happen.

I am sorry you are in such a crap spot right now. I hope tomorrow is better and that one of those embryos sticks.

You don't have to have hope that this will work, but is it ok if I hope for you?

At 17 February, 2011 05:15, Blogger Reba said...

there's always hope.

i relish those secret moments when we can just let ourselves feel the true joy of "ohmygod i love this little person so much, and they are such a miracle." treasure your night-time sneakings into linnea's room.

At 17 February, 2011 05:18, Anonymous It is what it is said...

I don't at all believe you have to have hope. However, I know that those that have no hope don't do or stop doing ART. One would not, could not put themselves through the rigors of ART if they did not believe it could work.

So, you can dig your heels in and cycle kicking and screaming and that is OK and won't affect the outcome. Whether you admit you have hope or think you can muster it, it is there propelling you forward with the promise that things might work out positively.

At 17 February, 2011 15:51, Blogger serenity said...

Nope. You don't have to have hope. You don't even have to BELIEVE that it'll work.

The way I look at ART is in terms of less Suck. Will it suck less to quit now and get my life back, or will I regret it in however many years?

That's what keeps me going for another cycle. There's a chance it'll work. Probably it won't. But it's better than NO chance, right?

I'm sorry you're hurting. Wish I was there to give you a hug.


At 19 February, 2011 00:51, Blogger Sara said...

Ugh. I hear you. It's hard.

(Totally agreed about how frightening it is that we can't even really protect the kids that we already have.)

At 19 February, 2011 10:58, Blogger Bea said...

It is a constantly alarming thought, that last one. Right from embryo onwards, no matter how much or little you hope for it. I agree that the outcome is beyond our ability to wish it so, that keeping the spark of hope alive doesn't affect the outcome. Although I suppose it does affect your choices going forwards.

I'm sorry you're having such a tough time. I wish it were easier. If you're too tired to hope, I say take a rest from it. From hope, that is. And once again I'll be wishing you the best of luck with the next steps.


At 20 February, 2011 21:49, Blogger Roccie said...

I like the idea of putting art second and plan to build it into my thoughts now.

I bet three is delightful.

At 21 February, 2011 23:43, Blogger S said...

Oh, that Hope is a dirty tramp!

Well, speaking from a place of constant IF failure, hope is waaay overrated. I've learned that either IF treatment will work, or it won't-no amount of hoping, praying, positive thoughts, eating certain foods, bedrest/no bedrest will really change what will happen-hell, if we could change things through hoping for the best, then there wouldn't be horrible diseases like cancer, ALS or cystic fibrosis that people suffer from.

I'm really starting to think that being infertile is a lot like living with any illness that's going to stay with you long-term-you see it for what it is, and you don't romanticize it. And, in an odd way, it starts to be "normal" for us, and we make the best of it. Who knows, maybe that's the definition of "hope" is for an infertile.

However, I do think that if one doesn't have some glimmer of hope (or, maybe call it optimism instead?) that trying again will ultimately be successful, then people wouldn't keep at treatment, despite the probability of failure. But will hoping make it more likely to work? Nah.

I'm sorry that you have to go through this-it really, really sucks. And, it's okay to think that Hope is a dirty whore-I've been thinking the same thing recently.


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