Wednesday, December 03, 2008

and days later

So the transfer was last Friday. A long series of Well, Waddya Know? type events meant I even got my own doctor, which with the rescheduling from Thursday to Friday, wasn't meant to happen.

It was done under ultrasound guidance, there was beautiful music playing softly in the background, the same music that had played on Tuesday, and I was still wearing my shoes and my underpants had been surreptitiously stuffed underneath my pillow.

Which amused me and the nurse in ways neither one of us could quite explain.

Actually, I have trouble explaining or narrating or writing down anything these days, and reading the last five or so months of these pages and just in case anyone has been reading the same and wondering when I'm going to buy the damn vowel, I DO think I'm depressed. That being said, I don't think I'm clinically depressed, I don't think I need medication, because I do think it's entirely normal to feel this way. I don't think one needs to medicate normal, you know? It's been a tough (which has got to be the understatement of this century) almost two years, so it's not "just" a pregnancy loss making me sad, it's months and months of surgey after surgery and things going wrong and more surgery and all the feeling like shit and THEN the pregnancy loss, followed shortly by another extremely invasive and debilitating surgery that left me feeling more like shit than I ever, EVER have.

But anyway.

The transfer.

When it was done, my doctor pointed out a tiny, bright white bubble on the screen. "That," he said, "is the air around your embryos.".

He might as well have handed me my two newborn babies because the wave of love I felt was exactly how I felt when I first met Daniel.

(Who is going to be three (THREE!) next Friday. Unfortunately, I've not got my shit together enough to plan and deliver a birthday party in time for that day, which is SUCH a shame as this is the first year Daniel has any idea of what a birthday is. Tell me, is it unreasonable to throw a "Three + One Month" birthday party? Or even a "Three + TWO month" one?)

(Also, new Flickr. Go look :) )

So now I'm wandering around with a newly pregnant looking belly, thanks to the exploding ovaries and all the support medication, and am conscious of spending at least some time with my hands over said because this might be the only time they're alive, you know?

If they are still alive, that is.

Which they entirely could be.

Last time held the Unbelievable Card. Like, how unbelievable was it that I'd get pregnant? Try THIS MUCH. So the fear of NOT getting pregnant was buffered by the lack of belief that I could.

And this time, there's no buffer zone.

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