the wall, cycle 4, day 25

Today, I hit a wall. What was once a pronouncement of my emotional stability, foresight and some apparent measure of self-care – “I will take a beak! I am going on vacation!” – is now a possibility that fills me with terror.

In the car with C this morning, on our way to the RE’s office for a what’s-next-if-I’m-not-pregnant appointment, I found myself asking C about adoption – leap frogging, without explanation, right over two more medicated IUI cycles and who-knows-what IVF. Soon, C was sputtering, admitting that he’s not yet ready to confront the possibility that the prospect of having a child might be put off by years and tangled up in bureaucracy and money we don’t have. And then, meeting with the RE, there was C, conceding that he also has a psychological block when it comes to IVF – he’s just not there yet. Which led him to casually suggest that hey, why not DO AS MANY CYCLES OF IUI AS POSSIBLE FOREVER AND EVER, AMEN. To which the RE kindly read my mind replied, THE LADY WILL HAVE NONE OF THAT PLEASE AND THANK YOU. And I, possibly, maybe, just barely, gave sweet C one of those half-smile-trying-to-look-unfazed looks like, don’t you think we could have discussed this earlier? Ahem.

Here’s the thing: we usually emerge from the RE’s office plan-in-hand. Despite the possibility that plan foretells – still not pregnant – having it in my possession is deceptively empowering. Because I’m a controlling maniac sort-of-Type-A person, I embrace structure and certainty – or at least as much as I can get in the world of unpredictable infertility.

And yet, despite my ostensible insight into my own needs, we didn’t make a decision today. We didn’t plan the next cycle. We told the nurse of our vacation plans and we vaguely considered the dear-god-spare-me number of days of birth control that could keep things at bay while we’re hiking and gallivanting with friends across California next month. But despite my best intentions; despite my stoic affirmations and belief that having said it out loud would make it easier to do, I sit here having neither chosen to barrel ahead nor having given in to taking a break. In fact, I feel rather paralyzed; incredulous that we are here. In our fourth medicated cycle. More than ten years after we first started dating. More than one year after we first started trying.

But here we are, and here I am, weighed down with apprehension and insecurity. I’m not exactly sure what I want. I couldn’t be happier that we’re getting away, seeing close friends who we adore, and spending time outside instead of handcuffed to a keyboard. But at the same time, I’m deeply aware of the possibility that another needs-to-be-timed-for-right-now IUI cycle could have me resenting this adventure. I don’t want that. But I also don’t want this feeling. This uneasy in between, the foreboding and anxiety that has me biting my cuticles to the quick. I may just crawl into a cocoon until my beta next Friday. Please excuse me.