The Bebe Report
So many times I had stood in this exact theatre room, all scrubbed up, ready to receive a baby. And now here I was…….the patient on the table.
“Ok,” I thought, “I’ve either just broken my waters or I’ve peed myself – and I have NEVER peed myself.”
Having active strategies to help us cope emotionally, communicate better and support each through our infertility would have made a profound difference on our journey.
“DON’T COME IN HERE!” I screamed at my husband through the closed bathroom door. I stared in despair at the disasterous scene before me.
My heart was racing. I felt breathless with the tiniest amount of exertion. I felt intense anxiety for, what I felt like, no good reason. I felt like I was having panic attacks – ALL the time.
After seeing the dietician, I became extremely interested – or rather, obsessed – in learning about vitamin supplementation in pregnancy.
“How are you feeling?” she asked in genuine concern. “Depleted,” I said flatly, “like death warmed up.”
“I can’t do this,” I would moan to my husband, “this is going to kill me. I won’t survive.”
My hands were shaking so violently that I almost spilled my ginger beer as I waited for the train. I was convinced it was all going to kill me.
When I saw that I had missed the phone call from the fertility clinic I could hardly breathe. My hands were shaking so violently that I couldn’t hold the phone.
Despair was consuming me, and yet the tiniest tinge of relief was starting to seep through the cracks of my broken heart; I was desperate for this torture to end.
“I am so sorry hun, your pregnancy test was negative.” I gulped. I wanted to vomit, and yet I had expected it.
“I’m only doing this for closure,” I’d staunchly say to myself, as if articulating the words out loud would convince my little fragile, hopeful heart.
When I woke up in recovery I had the number “16” written on my hand and I nearly burst into tears. As we drove home we allowed ourselves to relish the sensation of hope again…
I was a little bit hotter, a little bit angrier and a little bit less tolerant every day. Fighting invigorated me – Confrontation felt so GOOD.
So many women are afraid to change doctors as they don’t want to “offend” their current doctor, but for me, this was a decision of life or death – the life or death of my future children.
If I were to be completely honest – painfully transparent in fact – my struggle with people was nothing compared to my struggle with God.
Life or death – that is EXACTLY how I viewed it. I wanted to be taken seriously; this “casual” approach was making me furious.
I’d had many episodes over the last few years where I felt “depressed”, but nothing quite like this. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I felt sad – I just felt unbelievably tired.
I was excited, yet terrified – I wanted to meet her baby before I left, yet it seemed way too confronting.
It would send me into a frenzy of weeping until all the anger, envy, fury, disappointment and bitterness would leave me.
I gulped again. I was terrible at saying no. I was terrible at self-care. I was terrible at setting boundaries. I cared too much about what people thought of me.
“Break?” he scoffed, “You don’t have time for a break! I know you feel exhausted and depleted now, but you’re not going to feel any better in a few months.”
I got out of the shower and sat, exhausted, on the couch. I felt like I was losing my mind. I really didn’t know if Jarod was ever going to come home.
How do I describe a feeling so complex, that the layers themselves are blurry in my own mind? How do I convey the depth of pain that permeates the soul when all hope is lost?
I’d chosen to take a break – a long one – and it was gut wrenching to know that I was CHOOSING to prolong my pain, my suffering and the length of the unknown.
I looked up and the screen was black. I didn’t know what was happening, all I knew is that she was causing me unbearable pain and the procedure hadn’t even started.
“Can you do that?” I scrunched my nose in disbelief. “I can try.” Her nod was strong and solid, as though she was accepting a challenge.
For a brief moment I want him to go; I want him to move on with his life. I believe that it’s all my fault that he’s going through this horrible, painful crisis.