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Monday, March 28, 2005

Stuck at denial and anger

There are these stages of grief that people go through when they get bad news. They are denial, anger, bargaining and acceptance. I think there might be one more, but I can’t remember what it is right now. Ok, I just checked (thank you, Google), and the missing stage is depression. Hey, I’ve got that one covered too! Anyway, I had my third visit with the fertility specialist today. I hadn’t wanted to go to a specialist. I kept putting it off, thinking, well, we didn’t time things right at first because I didn’t know that I ovulate late (true) and besides that, I don’t ovulate every single month (also true) and maybe this month, this time, I’ll get pregnant (sadly, not true). But my friends kept urging me to go. At least you’ll know if something is wrong, they said. And after the first visit, I did feel good. I felt like I was taking action – doing something to make this whole baby thing happen.

But after that something changed. And this where the denial comes in, I guess. I had it in my head that I’d go in there and she’d say “Oh, you’ll be fine. Here, have some Clomid.” I was even prepared for something along the lines of “Hey tubby, why don’t you try losing 20 lbs. You’ll have much better luck.” But instead it’s all “did anyone ever mention you might have uterine fibroids” and “I’m concerned about your right ovary” and test after test after test and I hate every fucking minute of it. When she says I’m a good candidate for IUI, I just want to cry. Or possibly scream. It’s all moving so fast, and part of me just wants to stop. To say never mind, and simply go back to having sex each month and hoping for the best.

And then I wonder, what the hell is wrong with me? I desperately want to have children, so why am I so reluctant to do all of this? Why do I resent having to go to the doctor and doing some tests? My husband (usually the negative one in the marriage) can look at it and say, just keep in mind that there’s a baby at the end of all of this. Why can’t I do that? In the end, I suppose it comes down to this: Some part of me still hopes I’ll get to have sex with my husband and get pregnant, just like a normal person. And the rest of me is pissed off that it might not/probably won’t happen that way.