OUT OF HIDING

Since the roller coaster of our retrieval back in May, I’ve been all over the place, both physically and emotionally. Our protocol called for banking all (two) of our embryos, and our RE suggested taking a month off before starting the protocol for a frozen embryo transfer (FET).

My ovulation went MIA during our month off; by day 23 of that cycle, there was still no sign of it. I went for an acupuncture treatment and asked my acupuncturist to make me ovulate. No joke, the next day I got a positive on the ovulation-predictor kit.

All told, the cycle dragged on for 37 days, and after that, I had to endure a month on birth control. I threw myself into any distraction that would help me not think about the endless weeks stretching ahead of me before we could put an embryo to use.

I threw an elaborate bridal shower for my sister in Illinois. I spoke at a wedding conference in Colorado and extended the trip to do some hiking and exploring with my hubby. I went on a press trip to Anguilla. I closed another issue of the magazine at work (always a crazy whirlwind with late nights at the office). And then Philip and I were back in Illinois for my sister’s Fourth of July wedding weekend, complete with a bachelorette party, a family barbecue, two fireworks displays, a rehearsal dinner and the big event.

I was having a blast — and completely throwing my routine or any concerns about diet out the window. I consumed carbs and sweets like no one’s business. I had Starbucks mochas for meals. I drank like a fish at the bachelorette party. I felt high-strung and sleep-deprived, but I was basically too busy to think about how I was feeling. (In the midst of all the craziness, our evening young-adult church service closed, but we barely had time to process our disappointment.)

As soon as the big wedding weekend was over, I tumbled into depression. There were no more wedding-related parties that demanded hand-made banners. There were no more trips on the calendar. Work became a manageable 9-5 affair. And I was back in the stirrups at the fertility clinic, faced head-on again with this miserable struggle of infertility.

In concert with my change of pace from manic to sober, pregnancy announcements — from fellow infertiles — flooded in. A good friend who has been on this journey for three years with me finally conceived, and all three of my favorite fertility bloggers were either expecting or welcoming their new little one. Another good friend also announced her pregnancy, and while this couple didn’t go through infertility, they had been one of our few childfree friends left to call up on a Saturday night.

I can’t describe HOW ALONE this makes me feel. Or, as strange as it may sound, how unsafe. I had carved out all these little safe places for myself where I wouldn’t be faced with the heartache of seeing pregnant bellies and newborn babies and happy, rambunctious families — desires impossibly out of my reach. Work had been safe; church had been safe; family had been safe; my infertility community had been safe. Now nowhere feels safe. Pregnancies and children are invading everything, and it feels like I’ll forever be locked out. No promise of a future family. Nowhere to fit in.

I have to admit that it seems like God, or the universe, or whatever, is forcing me out of seclusion back into community. I can’t hide away anymore; I have to face my fears and pain. I have to just FEEL my pain. I do a million things to try to cover it, force it away, distract myself from it, numb it. But now I have no choice but to be with it and acknowledge it and let it just sit on my heart like a heavy, aching stone.

The timing also seems significant, with our impending FET. It’s hard to know how to think about it. Everyone encourages me to be hopeful, optimistic. But my tender, wounded heart has so many walls around it, such a history of disappointment and despair, that when hope comes knocking, there’s no way the drawbridge is coming down. The “realistic” side of me tries to hedge my bets and brace for bad news.

But I’ve been challenged by the story of one of the fertility bloggers I mentioned above — one who never gave up hoping, one who pressed on with natural remedies even after five years of trying and multiple failed medical treatments. Finally, she conceived naturally, after eight long months of persevering with acupuncture and clean eating — both things I’ve tried for a month or two at a time, but never stuck with that long. She also changed her mindset — she stopped avoiding baby showers; she started a fertility support group. She made a conscious decision to open her heart and focus on others, rather than hide away licking her own wounds, as I have done.

So my first step has been to change my diet. I’ve been eating whole foods only — fruits and vegetables, lean meats, nuts, eggs. I’ve cut out coffee, soda, alcohol, simple carbohydrates and refined sugar (except for the occasional serving of dark-chocolate-covered almonds). It’s only been a week, but I feel empowered already by the healthy choices I’ve made — and I think it has helped improve my mood too.

The mind/emotional aspect is harder though. My acupuncturist says to envision myself eight months pregnant — huge belly, swollen ankles I can’t even see. She says to go in the room that would be our nursery, the one where the door always stays shut to close out another painful reminder of what we don’t have. She says to bring my energy in there, to bring life and activity into the room. She said to bring in a plant. And then a massage therapist, who knows nothing about my story, recently told me to get some white roses (a Google search revealed that white roses are traditionally associated with new beginnings, and a bouquet communicates, “I’m thinking of you.”)

So I am working up my courage to try these things. I’m researching visualization. I’m trying to be more disciplined in my speech when I feel inclined to be negative. I read through an issue of Fit Pregnancy, which took immense bravery. And I started a secret Pinterest nursery board, which even as I type it makes me feel ashamed, as though I’m an imposter, or am setting myself up for greater disappointment and loss.

But I am attempting to get myself into that mommy headspace — and trying to open up my shriveled, clenched heart. (I even thought about buying a pregnancy gift for my sister-in-law and inviting them over to dinner, though I am FAR from being ready to activate that plan!)

So for now, it’s one step, one hour, one injection at a time, being kind to myself but also trying to push a little more in a positive direction each day.