Feeling loved

Well, I’ve officially ended the pity party I threw for myself at the end of last week. Taking a couple of days just to think about what’s going on brought me from anger to acceptance (I know I’ve read somewhere that infertility can invoke emotions similar to a cycle of grieving). Having all the other pills to take has actually helped make sure I remember the synthroid at the end of the day. And the metformin hasn’t caused any problems for three days now, so I’m hoping it will continue to agree with me when I start upping the dosage at the end of this week.

On Thursday night, after I’d started taking the metformin, Q. and I were curled up in bed drifting off to sleep when he kissed the back of my neck and said quietly, “I can’t wait until you start ovulating.” I responded with some querulous noise. The last thing I remember him saying was, “I’m really looking forward to having a baby.” I know I had a huge grin on my face as I fell asleep.

Q. and I were in perfect agreement about starting this process; we once spent a four hour train ride coming home from visiting my parents discussing whether it was the right time, and sorting out where we wanted our lives to go in the next couple of years (back in the days when we thought you could make pregnancy conform to a schedule). But since the expected (and unexpected) problems reared their ugly heads, I’ve felt that Q. and I have reacted differently. He’s really sat back and let me run things (temping, making doctor’s appts, reading obsessively, etc.), preferring to wait and see what the doctors say. I’ve thrown myself into infertility and feel sometimes like my own existence has changed to encompass it. At times I’ve felt that Q. doesn’t really understand how much this has affected me. He’s done everything that was required and more: produced the sample, come to all the appointments, given blood, come with me for moral support to the HSG, and he’s done it all without complaint, and for that I have always counted myself lucky. But it had seemed to me, until that sleepy conversation, that he wasn’t as interested in getting pregnant as I was, that he wasn’t really concerned about when a baby would enter our lives.

Now I think he was holding back his interest until something changed to make it possible that we might get pregnant, something that would give him hope.

He’s going to be a fantastic father. I’m so afraid that my body will let us both down.

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