Living in Uncertainty: A Deja-Vu

I've been reminded again at how terrible I am with uncertainty. For the last 6 months, we've been on edge, wondering if we are staying in NY or moving to another state. This not only involves moving our whole lives to a new place, but also losing our support system, friends, family, for what may be an amazing opportunity for DH's career and for our finances. Looking back on this period, has made me realize that I have a coping system that I had used while TTC and that even in this completely unrelated scenario, I find myself doing again. It's almost like my 12-steps, although no sponsor is there to get me back on track when I lose my way.

When faced with a big news, I initially experience a moment of shock, which involves a lot of "I can't do this!", followed by some tears of panic. Then, I start absorbing the news and start thinking of how I can pro-actively overcome the situation. Like during my time of TTC, I research. Yes, research is my salvation. It's the only way I know how to cope with things that are out of my control. I feel empowered by knowledge and somehow, this knowledge brings me to a more accepting state -- "Ok, maybe I can do this!" 

During this research process, I feel compelled to share everything with DH. Poor guy, he comes home at the end of a long day and has to listen to me go on and on about this one topic. I guess by sharing all this new info with him, I'm looking for validation that I'm on the right track and even finding out about a new angle that I may not have covered.  

Once I feel that I have scoured the internet and available literature, I sit there and put things on a balance. Pros and cons. I make lists (mostly mental ones) of various scenarios; plan Bs, Cs and Ds. And I draft action-steps that will get me to the finish line... that I can just as quickly shred to pieces to reenter the world of panic. 

Vacillating back and forth, I eventually reach a point of exhaustion, where I become incapable of thinking straight; where I need someone else to make decision for me. And then, I wake up one day, unable to do anything useful -- even writing this blog that I enjoy so much seems like a challenge. Like a prisoner of my own thoughts, I wait for sentencing day (you can equate this part of the last days of the 2 week wait). During that time, I feel like my life is on pause. I imagine myself in the middle of a busy highway, while people/cars are just whizzing by. During my days of TTC, it was people going about their lives, having kids (that I couldn't have) and careers (that I could no longer handle), while I, stuck in one position by some invisible chains, stand there, completely incredulous that despite my best efforts (remember all that amazing research?!) have no control over the situation. 

I thought I had learned my lesson after coping with the uncertainties of infertility for all those years, but turns out I have still much to learn. Life is filled with obstacles that are meant to make you think, act, and reinvent yourself even. 

I realize that the uncertainty I'm living with now is nothing compared to the uncertainties of infertility. In fact, I am sometimes ashamed that I would even make a big deal out of this impending move, but in the spirit of self-acceptance, I have to let myself go through my own coping process, even if I know deep down that in the end, I will get to the other side of this journey, just as you, dear bloggers/readers will get to the other side of yours. 

Cleaning Out My Infertile Past

In the spirit of cleaning out the clutter that has taken over my house since we started our IF journey and now further solidified by the presence of a toddler, I decided to venture into that corner of my house that is filled with stacks of papers and files that would put any hoarder to shame.

Sifting through the towers upon towers of papers, I found myself surrounded by my past. In one corner I had all the brochures and pamphlets handed out during the "Welcome!" meetings at the countless IF clinics we'd visited. Whether it was to find a clinic to start a cycle or a clinic to get a second opinion, they seem to contain the same information immortalized by the cliché family and baby pictures. I used to work in advertising, so I can appreciate the importance aspirational imagery, but I personally always found those pictures tough to look at (Will that ever be us?). And somehow, even today, as the picture perfect families were staring back at me, they brought back all of the sadness that they used to stir up in me.

Then in another corner were my medical records, dating back to my first visit to a new OB/Gyn. We had moved out of the city and purchased a house to fill with children (Ha!). The basic medical information quickly turned into extensive test results, ultrasounds, semen analyses, surgeries, IUI and IVF cycles. I had made meticulous notes of each cycle -- I guess treating that chapter of my life as the biggest PhD thesis helped me stay as sane as possible. Amongst the pages after pages of notes, time tables and consent forms were the pictures of the embryos that were at once my only tangible hope, only to always become the sources of my greatest despair.  There they were, our first two embryos; DH even has arrows pointing at them with each of their names. Eventually we got wiser and never named them again, but after every transfer, I would keep that black and white print out of our embryos by my bedside and wonder what kind of kids they'll become.

In the final pile were the receipts from the clinics, the labs, the anesthesia, the freezing of embryos, and of course the medications. As if it weren't bad enough that IF rips a hole through your heart, it also rips a hole in your pocket. When we bought our house, we knew it would need all sorts of repairs, but once the cost of IF treatments became an undeniable reality, we put everything on hold. Being the optimist that he is, DH would want to keep things moving along with our house (It's going to happen! Let's just fix these windows), but I would sternly stop him; reminding him that we don't know when our treatments will end and that we need to hold on to this money for our baby. Well, today we do have our miracle boy, and yes, our bathrooms are still outdated, but it was the best money we'd ever spent (and unlike the housing market, things around here only trend upwards).

So now, almost 3 years since my BFP, I only have two piles: one for recycling and the other for shredding. Somehow I think I'm going to have a hard time letting the pictures of the children (embryos) that never were slip through the sharp blades of my shredder. I think in the end, I'll have to stash them somewhere deep in my desk drawer to be rediscovered many years from now.

That corner of my home office looks tidy and clean now; yet empty somehow.