I’m sitting in a parked car in front of a blinking meter, on the street in front of my grief counselor’s office. I have 20 minutes before our 8am meeting.
I see a grief counselor. I’m not ashamed about it. I don’t consider myself weak or “crazy.” I consider myself in need of help and tools that I know I don’t have the expertise to research and facilitate on my own.
I had scheduled the appointment at the beginning of this month because it’s the month of my brother’s birthday. My brother passed away in October of last year, and this will be his first birthday in heaven, and our first birthday celebration without him.
It coincidently also happens that today is the day that Brett and I took a pregnancy test to see if our last round of IUI worked. It was negative. So, you see, I have lots of unprocessed grief today that I could use some help with.
It’s funny, (not “ha ha” funny, but odd), that every time we go through a fertility treatment cycle we are filled with SO MUCH hope. There is not one cycle we approached that made us think that this cycle was not “the one.”
Hope is intoxicating. It’s such a HIGH. Walking out of our treatments we always go somewhere for lunch to celebrate because we’re on such a rush. It’s exhilarating.
It’s also what makes these times so low.
I asked God on the way here, “Will I ever have a baby?” and “There are so many people praying for this – WHY hasn’t it happened yet?” and “Is there something really WRONG with me?” and “Did I do something wrong?”. Things I wish He could just send a message in a bottle to answer me, but can’t. So I’m left trying to read signs, and usually misinterpret them because, well, I’m human after all.
The “Signs” this cycle seemed to obvious and clear to me:
- Signs that reflected my Grandma being with us (like spotting her initials the day of seeing our positive ovulation test)
- The fact that our IUI nurse was named Lilly – the name of our angel baby.
- That if we were pregnant, we would have received the happy news in my brother and Mother’s birthday month.
What else could those have meant? Maybe coincidence this time was just mere coincidence? I don’t believe that. I believe that maybe that were just meant to say, “I am here for you, and… sorry… this one might hurt a bit more than the last.”
Brett is still holding onto hope because I haven’t technically gotten my AF (aunt flow) yet. I’m actually the more realistic one this time – I think it will come either today or tomorrow. And when I see it, I will be crushed again.
What I’m worried about now is:
Will I have as much hope this time?