Today’s the day. I am literally typing this in the lobby of my doctor’s office as I wait to go in to do the blood work to see what the results of our transfer are. Do you see how I very carefully avoided the P word in that sentence? That was totally unconscious but very telling of my mental state.
I’m nervous. My stomach feels jittery. And I hate that I got optimistic this time around. I hate that a part of me is really hopeful that it will be good news. That feels naive and stupid, and I feel like it will be embarrassing when the nurse calls with bad news to have once again set myself up like that. But there it is.
I’ve tried my best to prepare myself for more bad news (which frankly is totally impossible). Here’s my list:
- Filled the two week wait with fun activities
- Avoided peeing on a stick (which was really a lot of growth on the whole letting go of control front!) so that I could just enjoy a few more days of my current life before despair sinks in
- Pre-ordered a book by one of my favorite YA authors, which in a perfect stroke of luck arrives tomorrow
- Did yoga both days this past weekend to try and stay zen
- Told my manager I needed to work from home today (I have learned the hard way to never actually go into the office on the day of THE call)
- Made plans to volunteer in my son’s preschool classroom this morning, so that I can remind myself of how fucking lucky I already am
- Made plans to see a screening of David Lynch’s Mulholland Drive this Friday with a friend so that I’d have something to look forward to
- Downloaded the latest episode of Matt and Doree’s Eggcelent Adventure to listen to on the train ride home from the doctor (do you listen to this IVF/infertility podcast? It is wonderful!)
- Made sure there is wine on hand
- Made sure there is chocolate on hand
- Mentally picked out what I’m going to buy for myself online in my post-bad-news fugue state
- Mentally picked out the international travel I’m going to start planning (hello, Amsterdam and Iceland)
So there you have it. I know it won’t help, but its all I can do. This whole process is a real mind fuck – or, as I told my husband last night, a whole lot of bullshit fuckery. Deep breaths, and I’ll see you all on the other side.