This week has been filled with anxiety for a variety of reasons. I had a dentist appointment on Thursday, something that always gives me anxiety. I hate the dentist. I’m always afraid they are going to find a cavity and that gritty polish makes me gag. The crunch of it just goes through me. I have been going to the same dentist since I was a kid. My whole family goes there and I went to school with our hygienist’s children. The last time I was there, I was pregnant. I had a little bump and my hygienist was asking me about it. This time I am no longer pregnant and my child is no longer here. I tend to get anxiety when I know I am interacting with people who knew I was pregnant and who might not know if Asher died. Not because they may ask me about how my baby is, but because I know the response to that question will make that person uncomfortable and therefore, make me feel uncomfortable. I always prefer when people acknowledge the loss of him, than just simply ignoring the fact that my world crumbled 6 months ago and I am slowly learning how to rebuild it. But that applies to people who know that he died. For those that innocuously ask how my child is without knowing what happened, my response instantly makes them clam up and they then feel horrible for asking a simple question that they had no idea would have such a horrible answer. I don’t want to make people feel uncomfortable and I get anxiety about the possibility of that happening.
I assumed my hygienist knew because, as I said before, my parents go there. I knew one of them had to have been there since Asher passed and relayed the loss of him. But, I wasn’t 100% sure. Once I got there, she came out to get me, and just said “I need to give you a hug”. She knew. My anxiety disappeared in that moment (not my dentist anxiety because I still had to suffer through the polishing portion of the cleaning). She said she was sorry. I told her thank you and that it’s been a rough year.
The rest of the week has been filled with trying to conceive anxiety. Prior to giving birth, my cycles were always 28-29 days long. Since giving birth, they have been 26 days, 28 days, and 25 days. The last one was kind enough to start 3 days early and on my birthday… of course. Anyone who is trying to conceive is familiar with those Ovulation Predictor Kits (OPKs). I use to use the kind with the little strips that show a line. If the second line is as dark as or darker than the control line, it’s positive. However, I learned that they are EXTREMELY ambiguous. The darkness of the line is very subjective. Hubby and I would stare at them and each have different interpretations. So, I switched to the ClearBlue Easy OPKs. It gives you a smiley if you have your LH surge and no smiley if you don’t. Last month, I got a smiley on cycle day 14. This month I am at cycle day 17 and have yet to get a smiley. I stare at the lines and they look about the same darkness as they did last month when I got a positive, so why no positive yet?! For the past 4 days I have been obsessing about it. Each morning when I take the test, my anxiety ratchets up because I’m praying I get a positive. If I don’t get one this month, I’ve decided that I need to go back to the Fertility doctor.
The thought of going back to the doctor kills me. It makes me irate that I am back to this. Here we are almost one year out from being released from the fertility doctor when I was pregnant with Asher, to discussing going back to try and get pregnant again. We should not be here. We should have a baby in our arms. This SHOULD NOT be my life, and yet it is. When we were struggling to conceive, I would share with friends and family how afraid I was about going to the fertility doctor. The thought of it filled me with massive anxiety and, to me, it meant that we were giving up on having a child on our own. Now, I find myself doing the same thing. I’m fixating on whether I am ovulating and about going back to the fertility doctor. I feel like my friends are getting annoyed with me talking about it. I was hoping (I’m surprised I still have any hope left) that I would get pregnant naturally (like I did with Asher) and I would avoid all of the additional doctors. Going back to the fertility doctor means, I am giving up on that hope again. I know the doctors are there to help but the devastation that going back to them brings to me is indescribable. It is a slap in the face that my life has come back to this. Why is having a healthy, LIVING child such a struggle for me? Why can’t it just happen naturally, like it did before? Why are my cycles are varying now? Why isn’t my son here?! It all comes back to that question. Why isn’t Asher here? I would not be here in this low point of my life if my son was alive. I wouldn’t even consider trying to have another child so soon. I would be soaking up every moment with my rainbow baby.
This week has been a rough one on me. I would like to end it with a quote that I learned from a show on Bravo called “Sweet Home Oklahoma”. (If you have not watched this show, please do, because it is hilarious!) One of the women on it stated that “life was a Lazy Susan of shit sandwiches”. Right now, for me, that statement could not be more true. No matter how much I spin the Lazy Susan to try to get another type of sandwich, the only option seems to be a shit one.