Monday evening I sat on the couch and sobbed into my hands while I told My Beloved it would be okay if he left me. And I meant it. I really did. The thought of dragging him along with me any farther down this mournful, childless road was breaking my heart. All the crushing guilt I've felt since losing that first tiny soul nearly four years ago roared up in a massive tsunami of grief. I was being swallowed alive by my own shame.
It didn't help that I had a big glass of wine right before My Beloved came home. Yeah, that didn't help at all.
But let me back up...
I had my post-op appointment with my RE on Monday afternoon. He didn't tell me anything I didn't already know, except for one thing; He gave me a timeline. 6 - 12 months. That's what I've got before the cobwebs of scar tissue weave themselves back through me and take with them our hopes for another biological child.
I don't know if I'm a "scar tissue maker" or not. Dr. S. might be wrong. But the only way to tell is to do another lap in 6 months time, which he said is pointless. If I am a scarer, a second lap will only make things worse.
No, he says we should stumble along as best we can with one inexplicably blocked tube and insides that are currently as clean as they're likely ever going to be.
He drew a line in the sand. 6 - 12 months. And that's it.
For personal reasons I choose not to discuss here, IVF isn't an option for us. It's my best hope to have a child under the circumstances, but we won't be going down that road. We'll be doing IUIs when the conditions are physically right (when the dominant follicles form on the left side where my tube isn't blocked) and crossing our weary fingers.
So I came home, drank a glass of wine and sobbed. Horrible, angry, mournful, guilt-fueled, agonized sobs. I think I swore at God, I can't remember, but I know I cried like I haven't cried in a long, long time. It literally felt like my heart was breaking. You know that ache you get when you can't breathe from crying so hard and for a split second you think it's actually going to kill you? Yeah. Like that.
I'm tired of this being so hard. I'm tired of having my hopes dashed and my spirit crushed over and over and over again. I do a pretty good job at picking myself up and dusting myself off, but I keep wondering at what point I'll just decide it's much easier to lay there in the dirt instead.To stop fighting for happiness and let life drag me along behind it.
The thing is, the guy on the couch (who, with tears in his own eyes, told me there's nowhere else he'd rather be) is reason enough for me to keep plugging along. He once told me he didn't marry me for my uterus, and I don't think he has any idea how many times that has saved my soul over the past two years.
If he wants me - all guilt wracked, broken and potentially barren - then I must be worth wanting.
I'm not saying I need a man to validate my worth, or that I'm nothing without My Beloved. I'm just saying it's a very powerful thing when a person who you know so desperately longs to have another child tells you that he wants you even if you can't give him one.
To be loved that much is reason enough to keep on hoping - scar tissue, timeline and all. It's also reason enough to believe that even if our dream doesn't come true, I'll still be okay.