Tomorrow morning, I'll bundle up Isabella, drive to a lab about 3 minutes from my house, and have my blood drawn for my pregnancy test. Somewhere between 1 and 3 tomorrow afternoon, my clinic will call me with the news.
I haven't slept well the last two nights. My mind has been churning.
A negative test result means several things.
We would have to drain our savings account to try another IVF cycle.
I would have to prepare myself for the rigors of a fresh cycle, more intensive and much more physically and emotionally draining than a FET cycle.
I will have to share my emotions and feelings with my mom, as this time around (for better or worse) she was included in the inner circle.And most difficult of all, I will have to find an appropriate coping mechanism for myself. I'm not sure what I'll allow myself to feel if this doesn't work.
I am so fortunate to have my daughter. I will never, ever forget that. And you, my wonderful readers, have taught me that it's okay to want another. That just because I experienced the miracle of one child I thought I'd never have, it's not selfish to want another.
But is it okay to mourn the loss of that potential second baby as greatly as I would the first? I'm not sure.
And what if this is the end? What if I'm never able to conceive again?
I know some of my fellow IF sisters are able to approach their bloodtests with excitement. These women have endured far greater trials along their paths to motherhood than I have, and yet their steadfast positivity remains until their clinic tells them it's over. I'm not that woman. In the two years of trying for Isabella, I was never that woman.
I sobbed buckets before each and every procedure I had during the diagnostic phase, certain they would find something horrible and tell me I would never be able to conceive or carry a child to term.
I approached my 5 IUIs with an initial two-day period of hopefulness, which quickly spiralled into anger and sadness, and then depression when one after the other failed. I was certain we would never be able to afford IVF, the end of the road for us.
A freelance writing gig fell into my lap, and we did.
And I spent almost every day of the two-week wait between my 1st embryo transfer and my bloodtest crying for one reason or the other, and sometimes, for no reason at all. I was convinced it wouldn't work.
This time around I haven't spent (much) time wallowing in my own negativity. But if I'm being honest, the only reason is because I simply haven't had the time. It isn't because I feel any more positive about tomorrow's outcome than I did 27 months ago, when I was waiting for the news of my first IVF cycle.
I'm sorry if you stopped by here to wish me luck only to have to wade through the muck of this post. It's not all bad. To answer L's question in response to my last post, this visit with mamacita has been blissfully free of "critter" propaganda-speak, thanks to a discussion my kick-ass sister had with her. My mother arrived late Friday morning. It is now Sunday morning, and she has yet to bring up the topic once. Hallelujah. And Karrie-thank you.I'll post my news at some point tomorrow. I want to thank each of you for your amazing support and kindness throughout my FET cycle.
Bring on the happy ending.