I had a lot of soul-searching moments this past weekend. Mama and I spent all day running errands and having lunch, and even made a trip to the cabin to drop some things off for the new bathroom renovation. That’s a 45 minute trip one way, so we had time in the car to talk. Sometimes that leads to insightful conversations that make me reevaluate myself, my attitudes, and my actions. Sometimes it reaffirms those things for me and lets me know that I’m not alone. Sometimes I don’t even realize I’m feeling a certain way until I voice it to her, and it’s a surprise to me until I hear it come out of my mouth. All of that happened to me this weekend.
I have been putting off blogging. Granted, it’s been well over a month since I had a computer that worked at all. Brian’s done a lot of work on it for me. I’m still running slowly and all of my files and pictures are being held hostage on his desktop computer, but I’ll get all of that back when I nag him hard enough. I was off-line long enough to break my addiction to Facebook and those infuriating games, my addiction to reading the snarky comments of snarky blogs just to have vicarious drama in my life for absolutely no benefit, and my addiction to just killing time on the computer. I rediscovered crocheting — it seems to only be a winter sport around here for some reason — and read a lot on my awesome new nook. I have definitely benefited from being online a little less. I told myself that I would return to blogging as soon as my computer was in good working order. I lied to myself.
This weekend I saw a friend who is also a blog reader. She said she was missing my blog (Hi!!). It felt strangely nice to know that someone had actually noticed I wasn’t posting my usual drivel on here. I’d like to pretend that I write for myself, but I’m actually a comment whore. Being missed made my day (Thank you!).
See, I know why I haven’t been blogging. I realized it when I was talking to Mama today. I really don’t want to have to admit to all my bloggity friends that I have a big old secret. You guys are my free therapy, my captive audience, my friends who are scattered all over the place and keep in contact this way. To admit this secret to you is to admit that I don’t always have the answers, that I don’t always know what to do, and to admit something even harder.
I am scared.
Correction: I am terrified.
We’ve come to the point where it’s time to start a new cycle, begin on the injectible gonadotropin drugs, plan for an IUI, and try to get pregnant for the last two months. This is the last ditch effort, the beginning of the end, the hail Mary to end the game. And I’m so scared to fail that I’ve gotten scared to try. I am so scared to try that I’m terrified to even begin. I’m so terrified to even begin that I’m avoiding talking about it to anyone.
Mama pointed out that I’m scared for no reason. She’s right, but I beg to differ. One cycle of what we have planned is going to cost between one thousand and fifteen hundred dollars. That’s a lot of money if it’s unsuccessful. It’s not even money — it’s debt added on to the credit card we’ve been trying to pay off. It’s debt that may be paying for failure. And if we fail for two months, we’re done. D-O-N-E, done. I’m so ready for this all to be over, but I’m not ready to admit defeat out loud and finally. Trying and failing twice will be failing permanently. I’m scared of that.
Even more scary is what if it works? What if I get pregnant, and my stupid body fails to do its job? What if I lose a baby or can’t carry it long enough to give it a good start? I have this fear of having to explain to my child or anyone else that my child was a micro-preemie because my stupid body failed. And trust me, I’m used to this body not doing what it’s supposed to. So the idea that it will continue to let me (and our child) down is not so far-fetched. Now, before you flame me, know that I would never assume that it’s a woman’s “fault” if she miscarries or has a preemie. But you find me one woman who says she hasn’t already felt that for herself or worried over it, and I’ll show you a woman who’s a liar. We instinctively blame ourselves for our reproductive issues, and while we are completely wrong, it’s also completely normal. So turn off the flame throwers and settle down.
I’m also more than a little scared about having higher-order multiples. We’d love twins, welcome triplets. But see my above paragraph about preemies and scary threats to healthy babies. Multiple babies can mean NICU stays. If we have multiples, there’s a great risk of all of that. And the drugs that I’m going to be on increase those risks exponentially. Given my work situation, I have no maternity leave. If we have a child or children in the NICU, I’ll have to stay here and work all day before being able to go to my child. I won’t be able to be that NICU parent that stays by their child every day. I’ll have to be a weekend warrior, and I’m not sure what that says about me as a mother. I have this horrible fear of us having three or four babies in the NICU, losing my job, losing our house, and having to fit quadruplets in my parents’ spare room for five years. Given what can happen and what has happened to people better off than us, I think it’s a legitimate concern. I’m truly terrified about what will happen if we are successful but if I’m not able to do it right. That scares me more than failure. And if you know me, you know how much failure terrifies me in any form. Failure will just mean that we don’t have a baby biologically. Success will give me nine months (ten!) of fear, anxiety, and walking on eggshells. As much as I want a baby or babies, I’m still so scared to try for fear that I might succeed.
So that’s why I have avoided blogging. And talking. And making phone calls to the doctor. You name it, I’m avoiding it.
But no more.
I’m working hard on handing it all to God and washing my hands of it. I will step out in faith and trust Him to take care not just of me, but of the little people he has planned for us no matter how they get here. That doesn’t mean I’m not scared — I am. But I have to feel myself in the palm of His hand and know that it’s where I am safe.