Thursday, February 01, 2007

Ah, winter

It must be the winter. The darkness, the cold, the inability to make plans with any certainty for fear the roads will be sheets of ice, the general feeling of being trapped like a caged animal.

It must be the winter that's making everything so much harder to endure.

It's also possible it's the shitstorm of loss, grief and infertility. It could be that too, I suppose.

But whatever. I find it takes me so much longer to recover from upsets these days. And I'm tired. Worn right out physically and mentally.

The classic signs of depression. Yeah, yeah, I know. But under the circumstances I'm inclined to cut myself some slack. The past two years have been an absolute living hell in more ways than I can count or name, and if the winter blahs have me in a death grip because of my inability to cope with frigid, dark weather on top of sorrow, loss and a funky uterus, well so fucking be it.

So it looks like a lap is our next stop on the fertility train. More surgery. Because the last one (a c-section that left me infection-riddled after they were finally able to control the hemorrhaging) wasn't enough fun.

The good doctor seems to think that our last, best hope to figure out why the hell I can't conceive after almost two years of trying is to take a looky-loo inside and see if I have adhesions or scar tissue. All signs point to yes, I suppose, given that I conceived three times before with relative ease.

The idea of having surgery - of going back into a hospital, donning a gown and laying in an operating room with the sounds, smells and sights I remember so well assaulting me at every turn - quite frankly makes me ill. I'm very excited about the possibility of it being the answer to our prayers (or, more accurately, the answer to our wails of "WHAT THE FUCK????" directed at the universe in general), but it's the getting through it that worries me. Getting to it, and getting past it.

How will I cope with that? Particularly when a snowy day makes me tense.


I know several people who have had this procedure done. They all survived. None of them had complications. Many of them went on to conceive - some right away.

But none of them lay on an operating table listening in shock, horror and confusion while a team of doctors bagged their dying son either.

Clearly I'm approaching this a little differently than the average lady.

But I know I have to suck it up. My only choice is not to have it done and spend the rest of my life regretting it and wondering if we'd have had another child if I'd only been able to summon up the courage to have a simple 40 minute surgery.

I'm no picnic to live with now, but My Beloved would surely grow weary of the guilt seeping from me like sweat, the begging for forgiveness, and the relentless "what if" style speculation that I know I would be incapable of quelling.

So I don't really have a choice. But I don't have all that much courage either.

I wonder if they'd be willing to start administering the drugs from home...


stephanie said...

My dear, you have more courage than most people I know. Every day, you face that living hell you wrote of. And you keep on doing it, day after day. That takes incredible courage. And even though you think it's taken you down, it hasn't. It's tried, but you are stronger and better than that. You have courage in spades, friend.

kate said...

All of a sudden it is February, too -- such a short month, with March just around the corner. Not the best time of year for you or me, eh?

When do they want to do the lap? Yes, you do have the courage to make it through. I am sending you lots of good thoughts...

Margaret said...

I would worry about you if you DIDN'T have concerns about this. It's perfectly understandable given all you've been thru.

Just know we are here to support you. I hope you get some answers from the lap!


Katie said...

Hey, I've been a crappy blog friend lately and haven't visited you in a while. Damn, girl, you got it goin' ON! Yes, you're depressed, duh, and yes you've got a freaking lot to deal with. On top of all that, however, you continue to write with clarity, passion, and, I sit in awe! Thanks for your transparency and taking the time to capture everything

Katie said...

Oh, and brilliant post about naming our "conditions." I wonder if any infertility or related organizations have ever attempted to put a name to these "situations."

Hubby and I could be called DINKs: dual income, no kids, but that wouldn't be entirely accurate. He has 2 grown kids from his first marriage. What the hell do I call that?

Maybe I could have our "story" condensed into a paragraph that would fit on a business card...when people ask that question "DO YOU HAVE KIDS" I could just hand them the card. Kind of like that comedian's "HERE'S YOUR SIGN" but "HERE'S YOUR CARD" instead.

Dangit, if I don't laugh I'll cry.

Bronwyn said...

Sorry you have to undergo more invasive poking and prodding; I wish it didn't have to be this way. You are incredibly strong and courageous. I hope the procedure gives you the answers you need to move forward. Thinking of you...