Fear, and the fervent hope of joy

In my last post, I mentioned my many emotions surrounding beginning again. I guess I feel the need to write this post as a kind of cleanse; a way to get the negative emotions out so that I can better focus on the positive, because I cannot go into this next IUI already feeling defeated. I cannot, and I will not. It's not fair to me, nor is it fair to Jason. The fear needs to be pushed aside to let hope take over and do what she does best: inspire. Besides, I like hope better, she keeps much better company.

First, the ugly, cankerous fear. I'm terrified we'll conceive again, only to have it end in heartbreak, as it did in October. I'm so afraid that I'll never see our biological children, that each time we're blessed with a pregnancy, I'll miscarry. I'm afraid to endure another miscarriage, both emotionally and physically. I'm afraid that I'll get further along in a pregnancy the next time and then suffer another loss. I'm so afraid to allow myself to hope, to let myself be vulnerable to the possibility of our dream coming true. After so much pain and disappointment, you begin to build a shield of sorts around yourself to serve as protection from anything negative that may come your way. If you expect the worst, you'll be ready when it comes. If you expect bad things to happen, if they do, you won't be taken off guard, and if they don't, you'll be pleasantly surprised. And yes, I am aware of how awful that sounds. My glass at times has seemed overwhelmingly half empty. But the thing about experiencing what we have is that after a time, the bad somehow eclipses the good and it becomes difficult to find the silver lining. And I'm not just referencing my infertility. My heart health has played a huge role in the latter half of this journey, and it is tough, and it will make whatever pregnancy I am blessed to experience more challenging, because not only will I have the fear of miscarriage looming over my head but I will have the "I sure hope my heart can handle this" fear as well. My cardiologists believe all will be well, but I will be closely monitored. Because of my heart/pacemaker, I am labeled a moderately high risk pregnancy and will need to schedule high risk appointments with my cardiologists at UCLA when the time comes...which actually is more reassuring than scary when I think about it. More opportunities to ensure that all is well, right? Right.

More fear. September 19th, 2011 was one of the happiest days of my life. When we found out I was pregnant, I was elated. Truly, it was a level of joy that I hadn't felt in a very long time. But right away, I was afraid. Right away, it didn't seem real. At all. And I'm not sure if it was because it had taken so long for our dream to become a reality, that when it did happen, it was so surreal that it had to sink in with time, or if maybe somehow I knew. Knew that it wasn't going to last. Knew that it wasn't meant to be in the end and I had to prepare myself for the worst. Mother's intuition? Maybe. Fear taking over my brain and refusing to let anything good in as a way to protect myself from sadness and disappointment? Perhaps. I'll never really know which one it was, and I suppose it doesn't really matter. Wondering which it was won't change what is. I'm afraid I'll feel that way again should we be blessed with another pregnancy. And yet, I can't allow myself to feel that way next time. I just can't. It was a horrible way to spend what I now reflect upon as a very blissful period in my life and I wasted it by being fearful. Yes, as it turned out I had cause to be fearful, but I can try my damnedest to not let it chew me up and swallow me whole.

The flip side to all of this angst? Hope. Beautiful, sparkly, enduring hope.

Hope. The thing with glorious white feathers that alights in my soul and simply refuses to completely abandon me. The thing that lights the way on my darkest of hours, that encourages me to get up, wipe away my tears, and try again, that next time, it will be different. The thing that shines with golden, glittery strength and urges me to do that which I fear I cannot, once more, twice more, until it works. Joy, unbridled and pure. I felt it once, I will feel it again. I must believe I will feel it again. The dream of holding our child in my arms, of taking in it's beautiful face and knowing that it is ours, the true embodiment of our love for one another, that dream sometimes feels close enough that if I were to reach out and really stretch, I could touch it, make it real. I crave the knowledge that it was all worth the wait, worth the pain, worth the long, unforgiving journey. I yearn to know that this path we're on, this road with it's many dips and turns, is where we're meant to be, that it will eventually lead us to the baby we're meant to have. The hope. It's there. I can feel it. It does wan, but it also glimmers and shines. The thought that 9 months from now, we could be welcoming our baby into the world, that is what keeps me going. I have to believe it. I have to envision it. If I don't, if we lose all hope, what else do we have? I am meant to be a mother, and Jason, a father. That I know without question. We have too much love to give. So we will hold on to hope, even if all I have is the tiniest of frayed threads.

Yes, my emotions about being back here again are many. But, we have to consciously choose to hope for the best, and leave the rest up to what is meant to be. Like it or not, that is all we can do.