And Men Think Women Never Fake It
My brain actually hurts. It is so filled with thoughts that it has swollen to twice its size and is pressing on my skull. Or so it seems. It has only been 5 days since the fateful phone call yet it seems like an eternity. I still don’t have my surgery scheduled. I called last week and left a message for the scheduling lady. At the end of her voice mail greeting, she informed her callers that multiple calls will not help, but rather delay a return call. I understand that desperate patients (ahem) have the propensity to call several times an hour and she would probably spend more time checking her voice mail than actually doing work, but I happen to be one of those desperate and emotional patients. Perhaps “patient” isn’t the word we should be using here. How about client? That seems more fitting.
I often wonder what it must be like to work at an infertility clinic. I hold my doctor in the highest regard; an almost God-like regard. His nurses are great too. The office is extremely efficient and I hardly ever wait more than 5 minutes when I have a appointment. The reason that the scheduling lady hasn’t called me back is legitimate. She is on vacation. However somewhere in my crazy oh-my-God-my-biological-clock-is-about-to-explode mind, I think that these people should never vacation, or eat lunch or take bathroom breaks. The future of my family or quite possibly the human race lies in their hands. They should work tirelessly, day and night to find cures and soothe the over-active minds of infertile women.
I’ve always be a planner. That might even be an understatement as I’m always thinking not only days ahead, but months and years. It is a physical impossibility for me to shut my mind off, while Husband on the other hand can actually decide to not think about something. I have thought of every what-if scenario regarding my infertility issues that I can imagine and my planned response for each. Husband lovingly told me this weekend that there are so many things that I can’t control, that worry will not change these things and if everything comes out OK (which he also assured me it will) then my endless hours of worry were for naught. I agree with his logic. I just don’t know what to do with myself in the meantime.
My eyes have been burning since Wednesday. My throat houses a permanent lump and I am on the verge of a sob all day. I have been pretty good at distracting myself with working out, shopping, cleaning and visiting with friends, but in reality I’m just covering up my worry with these things. The only thing that can completely take me away from the chaos is being with Sam and even then I return when I realize he may never have a sibling. My eyes fill with tears when he does something amazing, which is ALL THE TIME. He is so wonderful – beyond words- that I can’t imagine not having more. I think secondary infertility is so much worse than primary infertility because you know what you’re missing if you can’t have more.
When I read back over this I think, “My God, Shannon, you’re so dramatic.” I am tempted to delete the whole post and put on the Tough-y Tiger act. But then instead of dramatic I’d be fake and, to me, that is so much worse.
In my heart I know that things will be fine. One way or another, I’ll find peace with whatever happens, be it another child or the mother of just my incredible son. I tell myself to try to breathe deeply and have faith. The planner in me is screaming for answers faster than they are coming. Even if this whole journey takes years, I’d be OK with it if I knew the outcome. The not knowing is the hardest part. The hoping for the best and preparing for the worst is exhausting. The self-imposed guilt is overwhelming. The thoughts of insane selfishness of wanting more when I already have more that I could ever wish for wear me down. It is selfish, I suppose. Sam is so silly and smart and such a sweet soul that I want more. I want another baby to snuggle close and watch grow. I want Sam to have a sibling to fight with, teach and learn from. I want the time to slow down because my baby is no longer a baby and is growing faster than I like.
The scheduling lady will be back on Wednesday. Hopefully she’ll call me back this week to get my surgery on the books. Until then, I’ll try to focus on making it to Wednesday without going ape shit. Just two more days.