Off My Game

Let me preface this post by saying that every time I think about writing, I get a little spurt of anxiety – whether it’s performance anxiety or whether it has to do with the subject matter, I’m not sure. At any rate, I get a nice shot of adrenaline that lands square in my very upset stomach, precipitating a surge of nausea that makes blogging completely out of the question. I can’t even read your blogs. I get through work, drive home, and collapse on the couch in a teary ball because I’m so tired and my back hurts and and I’m hungry and turned off by food at the same time.

I am sooo off my game.

It was a week yesterday since my 6 week ultrasound. A horrible horrible surreal experience. I don’t think I have ever felt so keenly how my life can turn on a dime. It wasn’t a “what if” moment. This was an honest-to-god fork in the road and there I was laying helplessly on a table, legs spread, U/S wand invading my space – you know the drill. It really felt like a life-or-death game of Russian Roulette. Bullet or no bullet.

As you all know, this was the moment in which I found out if my husband and I were going to give up the dream of parenthood or whether we got to play more of the “waiting game.” I was at the mercy of the ultrasound tech who – irritatingly - didn’t seem to realize her pivotal role as the messenger of the Rest of My Life. Those ultrasound techs have no idea what an enormous impact they have on our experience and memory of these emotionally-laden moments. Little do they know they become very strong characters in the narratives of our fertility journey. I remember every one of my techs. Every one. Not what they look like, but how they delivered the news. How they reacted to my grief or my joy. I was pretty underwhelmed by the gal that told me she saw a heartbeat.

I couldn’t look at the monitor. I looked at my husband and made him look at me and just tell me over and over that we were going to be all right. No matter what. The ultrasound tech took too long for my comfort to tell me that there was a heartbeat. I’m sure it was a matter of, like, 15 seconds. But when she didn’t say something right away, I was halfway to me and Jason in a beach house we could now afford as a 2 person family.

So obviously, very good news. Heartbeat was 136 or 139 b/m and the fetus measured at 7 weeks. Bonus week! That is one less week of worrying. Turns out I ovulated really really really early. Like 3-5 days after the last day of my period. Guess my body wanted to get this whole mess over with as expediently as I did.

I am now at 8 weeks and our next hurdle is on Nov. 15th when we have the CVS procedure. In the meantime, I am treading water and I will try to be a better support to you all.