I finally worked up the strength to call my grandmother last night.
You should probably know that I have been avoiding calls with all the people who are closest to me. I haven’t been able to hear their voices without hearing the sympathy and pain, and I haven’t been able to hear the sympathy and pain without crying; so I just haven’t been able to have those conversations.
I can talk about anything with anyone right now, except what is actually going on. The minute someone wants to talk to me about what has happened in this last week, I shut down. I can talk and laugh and joke about every stupid thing you could possibly imagine, but I cannot talk about what didn’t work. I can write about it here just fine because that's a one way conversation really, but I just can’t have that dialogue where I feel the other person’s pain as well.
And I can’t allow other people to feel mine.
You have to understand, I don’t do anything short of strong very well. When I am struggling, it is incredibly difficult for me to have people witness that. It almost makes things worse. The fact that I can be so open here, in this space, is actually pretty astounding - it's not like me. I'm sure it's a blessing though. I'm sure I have to get it out somewhere.
I know people know I’m hurting, and obviously they can read about it here, but having them hear it, or even worse; see it? I can’t handle that.
I hit a point yesterday though, where I thought I could make it through a conversation tear free with my grandmother. So I picked up the phone and called her to let her know I was alright.
My grandmother loves me. She loves me so much. And because she loves me so much, her first words upon hearing my voice were to tell me that she loves me, and she’s so sorry, and she can’t imagine how much I must be hurting right now.
I held it together and thanked her.
But then she said “And, I just want you to know that you don’t need to be worrying about the money right now, or the baby things either.”
You may remember that my grandmother loaned me the money for this IVF round, and I know she knows I’ve been worried about how long it is going to take me to pay her back. But she has also been making piles of baby things. Sewing and putting together items with love. When I was so sure I was pregnant, she told me about those baby things she had been saving up for me. When I found out I wasn’t, I told my sister in law she had better get pregnant soon to give grandma the babies those baby things were meant for, and I told my dad (in a momentary fit of insanity) that I couldn’t even give my grandmother the great grandchild that was destined for the things she was painfully making with her fibromyalgia ridden hands.
Both of these things came out in bursts of tears and panic, and at least one or both clearly made its way back to her.
“You don’t need to be worrying about the money right now, or the baby things either.” She said. “There will always be someone who can use those things.”
And my heart sunk and the tears burst through. My grandma loves me. Arguably more than anyone. I know she, and everyone else, are aching for me right now and at a loss for what to say.
She couldn’t possibly understand the irrationality I am experiencing right now that both doesn’t want those baby things to exist, and also doesn’t want anyone else to have them.
The irrationality that feels like I have let those people who love me down.
The irrationality that tells me I have failed not only myself, but also those who cared about me enough to want this baby to be born.
I have let people down. I have left them disappointed and hurt and aching for the life that I couldn’t create.
Obviously, I know that isn’t true. I know that this wasn’t my fault and that I couldn’t have done anything more to make it work.
But in my heart? I can’t stop hurting. And not just for myself, but for the people in my life who also wanted this.
I hate that other people had their hopes up as high as mine. I hate that those close to me had their hopes crushed at the same time I did. I hate that I have had anything at all to do with pain for the people who love me.
I can’t have these conversations right now. I can’t tell people how I’m doing, or discuss what I’m going to do next, because as soon as I hear the pain in someone else’s voice – I lose my ability to be strong and stoic.
I lose my ability to keep my stiff upper lip.
And right now? I need that stiff upper lip. I need to be able to fight back the tears and move forward, because that is who I am. I don’t do the wallowing well. The depression doesn’t suit me. I just can’t let myself succumb to it right now.
I had a conversation with Dr. RE today that left me even more numb. I’m still processing how little actually came out of that conversation, but I’ll write about it soon. I also had an amazing almost two hour session with Teeny, and we spent a lot of time talking about my next options.
Anyone care to guess who I’m feeling the most warm feelings toward right now?
I did OK today. I didn’t cry. I didn’t pout. I didn’t allow myself to get sucked down.
And the most overwhelming feeling I had to combat today was guilt. Guilt over the sacrifices everyone around me has had to make so that I could have a dream that didn’t come true.
And today, for the first time in a long time, I was incredibly thankful that I don’t have that partner by my side.
Because if I am being bowed down by the guilt of letting down my father, and my grandmother, and my friends; I can’t even imagine the guilt I would be feeling right now over not being able to give my husband a child.
Again, I know it’s illogical, but my heart breathed a sigh of relief today that there was at least one less person who was hurt by this.
One less person to be taken out by my body’s inability to do what should come naturally.
One less person trying to pretend - for me.
ADSPACE
