We are back from Rhode Island feeling well rested, well vacationed, and anxious. No, we still don't know the results of this round of IVF, but we will soon. And heck no, we won't tell you when we do know. Not on the blog anyway.
In the meantime, here are some observations about a beach vacation with the in-laws and my hormones:
1) When we ran out of alcohol wipes for preparing my shots, we used vodka and paper towels. That's the closest I came to a drink.
2) I slept about 16 hours a day: 10-12 hours per night, and the rest (so to speak) in one or two naps during the day.
3) We saw lots of family, official and otherwise. That included people who had been adopted, conceived by IVF, and brought into the family the old-fashioned way. None seemed weirder than the next, but it was a small, especially weird sample.
4) It was a lovely week.
Leaving the state, the world of computers, and often wakefulness is a very good way of avoiding the things that make us anxious. I think that's why people take vacations. But coming home-sweet-home is inevitable, and we'll soon be coming to the end of this dreaded two week wait.
A psychologist told me once that the most powerful (disasterous?) combination of emotions is fear and hope. I hope more than anything to be a mother. I hope that it will finally happen this time. I fear that I will never be one. I fear that I'll get my hopes smashed into pieces again. Again. These thoughts coil around each other in my head and have started giving me nightmares. I've gotten jittery and am taking it out on a piece of gum. Which I found, unwrapped, in our car armrest.
We have come to the part of infertility I hate the most: the moments of truth. We have a whole lot riding on the pregnancy test. Two years of trying, tens of thousands of dollars, multiple surgeries and procedures, and going on two hundred needle pricks. To say nothing of the hope, that deadly dagger that keeps the wounds fresh.
If you don't hear from me soon, I may have gone back on vacation. Check Rhode Island.