I’m trying to refocus. I don’t want to dwell, to wallow. It’s over and done with. I need to move on.
It is hard, though.
I am very sad.
I feel like I’ve gone right back to 2008, when I so naively believed that the first or second IUI would surely work, when I had no idea of the path that lay ahead of me, when I thought getting me to ovulate was the problem and that everything else would be easy.
I thought this time around would be easy. I thought maybe the universe would balance things, even though I know, I know that this is not how things work.
My clinic encouraged this. The doctors praised the quality of my embryos. When I broke down and cried at the first consult because I was staring at my big chart and I was overwhelmed by the thought of doing it all over again, the doctor told me that it had taken a long time to get to that last IVF cycle, the one that produced E. But I didn’t have to do it all over again. We knew what worked now. I had beautiful blastocysts just waiting to become babies.
And that is a new grief.
I’ve posted on here a couple of times about how having E. has fundamentally changed the way I look at our frozen embryos (now embryo).
Before they were just chances.
Now it’s too easy for me to think of them as babies-that-could-be. After all, they were in the same petri dish as E. a little over three years ago. One of them might be here now instead of (or as well as?) him if they had grown differently on that last day. It could have been E.’s embryo that we defrosted two weeks ago. It could have been his embryo that didn’t stick.
Could have, might have. I don’t play those games for long. They’re overwhelming. They refuse to be grasped, contemplated, understood. Instead they slide in and around my consciousness, like a flicker in the corner of my eye that isn’t there when I turn to look.
Who might that embryo have been?
A sister for E? A little girl with dark hair and dark eyes like her mother, who I can see so easily when I close my eyes? Or a little brother, less clear to me, but no less possible.
This is the hardest part. The letting go, now that I know what the having means.