Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Time and space

I just finished a patient survey that covered every major step of my treatment at the fertility clinic. We're talking initial consult . . . to testing . . . to major surgery . . . to IVF . . . to IVF . . . to D&C . . . to IVF . . . to D&C to . . . life after. The fact that all of it went down in less than 15 months seems almost as unreal to me as the equally factual fact that time ran out for our much-longer-than-that TTC mission.

Filling out the survey — using ALL the extra commenting space and then some — was both freeing and tears-inducing. It helped further the feeling that those days are over. I know it, deeply, but I do benefit from any nudges toward the future that come my way. I'm still having these intense moments in which "the pull" bubbles up and it's all I can do to stop myself from thinking about how I might handle one more chance.

The feeling shows up less frequently as the weeks pass. But boy, when it yanks, it yanks hard. That potentially actionable pull is worse than the mad desire that still simmers below the surface: namely, that I might go back in time — to any number of turning points — and make a slightly different decision and, thus, well, you know where that train of thought ends. But because I know time travel is impossible, thoughts like that are easy to snap out of.

The in-treatment routine, however, is one tough habit to break. As thoroughly draining and difficult as it was, I always liked it. You can't do it absent hope, and who doesn't like a little taste of that?

Some days I'm caught off guard by the urge to call my acupuncturist, RE, or even the coordinating nurse I often second-guessed (always correctly, but hey, I still liked her and she was part of the package). One phone call, I think, and something more could happen. And THAT thought ("something more") brings me right back to the reason we stopped. Because I don't think something else would happen. I believe that an additional something of the variety we've already experienced would happen. More. Of. The. Same. That is my belief. And none of those well-traveled roads to the same unhappy destination interest me when I reeeaaaaalllly consider them.

One thing I've done in the New Year to create more space for my healing process is drop out of the online community I frequented for years (the FFriendly one, to be specific). Following others' TTC journeys, ART cycles, and pregnancies in that community's format just wasn't conducive to my breaking away and giving our decision to stop everything a chance to sink in. I knew I couldn't participate, even just to give support or offer information, without getting caught up in wanting it — "it" being whatever I might read or discuss — for myself. So I let my membership lapse, and I've successfully ignored subsequent entreaties to re-up.

That one move has worked out. It opened up some much-needed head space. And that helped kick-start my campaign to keep putting day-by-day time space between making the decision and living with it.

Well, Lost just ended, and I'm pretty sure "watching" while blogging has made me miss an important plot nuance or 20. Oh well. It's time for me to turn in. With any luck, tomorrow will be here soon.


Ms Heathen said...

It must have been very painful to fill out that form and to have had to relive so many difficult times - I think that the temptation is always to wonder what you might do differently if you had your time again.

I can completely understand your need to distance yourself from the online community - I'm sure that reading of other people's continued journeys must be very hard. Although things may have worked out very differently for the two of us, I am thinking of you and wishing you peace and courage as begin to forge this new path.

Anonymous said...

What Ms Heathen said. (because I'm wordy like that)

Anonymous said...

Just wanted you to know...that your on-line community still follows you, reads your blog and cares about you.

I hate making friends, then having to say good-bye!

I understand your choices, though...sigh...I wish it had been a happily ever after ending.

Why does that only happen in fairy tales??

I miss you...

Rebecca (FACE)

loribeth said...

Here from Lost & Found. As someone else who had to make that same move to "life after" a few years back, I salute you. Our story is not often told, but there ARE a few of us out here in blogland, cheering you on as you enter this new phase in your life. (I too found myself gradually moving away from the ttc boards.) All the best to you. (((hugs)))

Beautiful Mess said...

Sending you so many hugs and thoughts of peace. You're making these decisions for you and your health is what matters. Thinking of you.

Anonymous said...

Came over from L&F; so sad about your long journey and series of losses. Hope you find some measure of peace through this current transition.

Opus #6 said...

I am glad you are still blogging.

Anonymous said...

Over from L&F and in exactly the same boat you are. I promised myself that we would take time and I found that it was near to impossible to turn off the urge and so I've given in to it and am researching other paths. I admire your strength though in knowing when and how to take care of yourself. The very best of luck...and if you want to vent to someone in the same place, feel free to be in touch.

Tara said...

I am sorry that you are where you are. I wish time travel was possible. For both of us. IF is the biggest bitch I've ever met. I hate her...or him.

I've always been your cheerleader - ever since I found you - circa June 2008.

I grieve for you and me...and for all the babies that never were.

Much love to you.

Lucky for you - Lost will be on again next week with the awesome anecedotes (Spelling??).

Anonymous said...

Went back and read your whole blog. I'm floored by your honesty and grace. I wish there was something more I could do than to tell you that I'll be thinking of you...


Anonymous said...

I hear you; I'm traveling the same path.