This has been a better weekend for me overall. I didn't resist Monday morning as soon as I got home on Friday night. I just knew it was there ahead of me, but that I didn't need to fight it. I could still enjoy all the moments of my weekend. My anxiety about work is still strong, but I am learning slowly that I can do this job and it's not miles ahead of my competencies. It just requires a bit of reaching sometimes, which is great for someone who gets all jazzed up about learning. And Mr. August and I are doing ok with the adjustment.
This Wednesday is our big orientation meeting at the clinic. I've decided to take the day off and drive back home on Tuesday night, so that all three of us can drive to the appointment together. We'll all drive back together that day, and I will return to work on Thursday morning. A ton of back and forth this week, but it does mean I'm only sleeping in FTT for 2 nights, instead of 4. That will make my Chicken happy. I'm looking forward to the appointment because it means that we are actually getting this party started. I asked Sattva this morning if she felt ready for needles. I think her answer was something like "I'm ok with it. I just think it will be strange to inject myself with a needle". Yes. It is totally weird the first time. I remember being quite freaked out, but getting the hang of it pretty fast. She will too, as you all have, dear readers.
The lunch yesterday went very well. Sattva, C., J. and I all know each other from grad school and enjoy being able to catch up with each other, something that's harder when people get close to are actually graduate. They were happy to hear that Sattva would join us for lunch. Our usual lunch trio includes J., C. and I. We've been doing this every 2 months for the past 2 years. J. and C. are dear friends and have been incredibly supportive. The lunch where I shared with them that the fertility treatments had failed was the same lunch that C. announced she was pregnant. It was hard for all three of us. But I decided that day that I wouldn't let infertility take my friendships away. C. has always been very considerate and caring in talking about her pregnancy and her baby, always staying mindful that it would potentially be hard for me to hear. C. now has a 9-month-old baby and because she brought the baby along, her time at lunch was a bit limited (soon-to-be toddlers don't appear to enjoy sitting at a French bistro, eating delicious food, sipping wine at lunch and chatting for hours. go figure). By the time C. had to leave, we hadn't got to the part about revealing that Sattva is the egg donor. I was feeling a bit sad about that, since I wanted to reveal it so as to make it more real.
C. and baby left, but J., Sattva and I lingered a while longer. My friendship with J. is quite close and I would have told her who the donor was a long time ago, except that I felt that because she knows Sattva, I wanted to wait until it was a bit more concretized to say it. More importantly, I wanted to make ultra sure that Sattva was ok with telling people she knows. As soon as C. left, J. couldn't contain herself and asked if we could talk about the DE IVF. She pieced it together pretty fast that Sattva was the donor, and bless her heart, she started weeping once it was confirmed. Not just crying, but weeping. Sattva and I were a bit stunned, but as anyone with a heart would do in this situation, we also started to cry (thankfully, we were in a booth, reducing the spectator effect for those in the vicinity). J. is a very open hearted person, someone who wears her heart on her sleeve. She proceeded to tell Sattva how hard it had been to watch me go through the devastation of not being able to have a child with my own eggs. She talked about the lunch (described above) when I said the treatments had failed, and how she went home and cried that day, cursing the universe that I couldn't have children. J. had promised herself to tell the donor, once she found out, that she was so grateful that she could do this for me. J. was just so moved. And so were we.
I think about the crappy comments, avoidant behaviour, uncomfortable silences, glossings over that I have encountered when I've risked talking my infertility. Those all seem to fade when I think of how some of my friends have responded. Sattva is of course a cardinal example. J., as you saw in my description, has also been amazing. There are others like Oat, Dragonfly, and Themis (yes, that would be you in our nation's capital). And others still (I'm just running out of pseudonyms).
It's tempting to tie all of this up with a nice bow, and say that out of this awful infertility comes a great deepening of relationships. Yes, that is true. Infertility taketh away, but infertility also provides a context for giving and receiving. One that blows my mind these days. It doesn't take the pain away, but the ways in which my friends have rallied around me and supported me certainly makes me believe in how far people can reach out for others. For me.
Receiving is never easy for me (thanks for noting that in your last comment, Roccie, and for supporting my "unloading"). I carry on with my antiquated ideas of unworthiness, remnants of early messages I got growing up. In psychotherapy, we talk about corrective experiences, where some interpersonal processes that occur in psychotherapy produce a significant change for a client because the therapist is responding in a way that is different from the client's expectations, based on his or her established interpersonal patterns. My friends are forcing me to revise my antiquated beliefs and expectations. They've been doing this for a years now, and this episode is the latest version. Perhaps I am being compelled into feeling worthy. Could the universe have this as a plan? Is it time to abdicate and consider myself loved? Worthy?
I leave you with a little picture of my girl Chicken. I was snapping my fingers to get her to raise her head, which is why this strange arm is poking straight out of her head.
|Chicken and Augusta's arm|