I like the acronym ART. It makes me think of paint brushes and canvases. As though Mother Nature will be creating a child for us, all pastel swirls and sweeping colour.
Our Assisted Reproductive Technology will be IVF. Yet another acronym — this one not as benevolent sounding, yet still full of promise. We were thrilled to find out that we received a coveted funding opportunity. This should bring the cost down to $6,000, since I’m to be receiving the Cadillac of Drug Cocktails to encourage my ovaries to produce, produce, produce. (They currently are floundering, which my specialist says is a result of endometriosis since my hormones are good). So we get the funding, and with all the excitement I decided to come out of the infertility closet and announce publicly (at least, on Facebook) that we’re exciting to be moving forward after years of feeling stalled. What better way to tell people you’re having a crap deal reproducing than by throwing a positive spin on it, right? I figured there would never be a better time, aside from possibly the birth of a child, but then it’s behind you and why talk about it… you’ll just make others in the same boat want to throw rotten food at you.
My announcement got a lot of likes and congrats and all the rest of the public support that drives narcissists to post selfies every day. I felt good! I felt liberated! I felt like somehow people would no longer be wondering what was taking us so long to reproduce (even though I know in reality no one thinks about you as much as you imagine they do). I felt like we could do anything, and that if we were to do it that day we would succeed based on sheer belief.
And now we wait.
We will wait 10-12 months before treatment starts. Folks, this is a long time. I know, I know: any time waiting for a positive pregnancy test is a long time. But to go from this high, this sense that we are doing the right thing, this feeling of moving forward, to just…. waiting….
I feel my euphoria fading. The doubts are starting to creep back in. The walls are coming back up, my emotional defences hardening for failure. I don’t want to be this person again. For a window of about a month I felt like my old self, the person who is positive and believes that whatever shall be shall be and it will all work out in the end. She was back! I had almost forgotten what she felt like, but there she was and I clung to her, hard.
And now she’s slipping away and I don’t know how to stop her from going.