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.

Hi there, blog

TGIF.

Haven't been posting much, I know. I notice 3 fairly recent posts hanging out in draft form. After clicking to see what the heck I wrote, I think "unpublished draft" shall remain their fate. The first had no identifiable point, the second made the same point 6 annoying times, and the third had a great big peach of a point lurking just beyond its horizon . . . but I'm not up to chasing it.

I'm making progress, DH is making progress, and the two of us are making progress. All of it's slow but by now discernible.

Would you believe that the dog has had a setback? It was totally caused by her people's worn and weary state. Poor sweetie received some confusing signals: Despite absolutely knowing better, we succeeded in reinforcing/cementing an irrational fear she developed by indulging it and throwing extra affection in its general direction. So now it's time to train away the crazy. It is so silly. Thankfully, the pup is a quick study.

And, I don't mind having an attainable goal to conquer. Nope, don't mind that at all.

Even Wikipedia knows a doctor can't "implant" an embryo

I am still frustrated by the nature of the news coverage surrounding the octuplet mom. For example, DH and I turned away from CNN last night to get away from Anderson Cooper's incessant teasers about the "Angelina Jolie connection." Please. What a ridiculous tabloid-y ploy, trying to get people to stay tuned for nothing more than a "story" about how some people (on the street) are wondering (because a CNN producer asked them to) whether this person has set out to be like the beautiful celebrity with all the kids (who sells copy and gets viewers).

I have an idea for you, Media, and I really think you're going to like it:

Start calling her OctoMama, which rhymes with Obama (no disrespect to the president implied) . . . and let your imaginations take you to new heights of loosely-linked-to-nothing voyeuristic reportage. People will eat it up.

Meanwhile, I'm still hoping for the story about someone advocating for the mom to get the real help she needs so those children can have the best lives possible. Why is everyone so angry with her? Yes, I got judge-y myself. But you can't stay in that place for long when you see that she clearly lacks the judgment necessary for real-world decision making. It makes me sick that nobody seems to be stepping in to help in a meaningful way.

Nutshell goings-on

Hanging on, and in. Still flinging, but not as much. Feeling sad, mad, and nowhere near the glad.

Trying to make sense of everything that came before and everything still to come. Knowing what has come but not fully "getting" how we got here. Questioning. Answering. Surrendering. Accepting.

Reminding myself what's good. Seeking more of the same. Trusting we'll come out the other side. Getting up every day to give it another whirl.

It's hard.




*****
Saturday morning chuckle: I noticed that nutshell also reads Nuts Hell. How unintentionally apropos. :)

Okay, now I'm feeling judge-y

Today's octuplet-story update has prompted me to start judging the mother. I am only human, after all!

Quite the go-getter, that one.

Here's hoping she gets ABSOLUTELY NOTHING MORE than her 15 minutes. And some quiet help for her problems.