Acts of self-preservation

It's no secret that IVF gets a bad rap. Just mentioning those three letters to the rest of the world will launch the average person into a mini diatribe. During our first IVF cycle, I had complete strangers lecture me on how selfish I'm being to undergo such a procedure while "millions of unwanted children need good homes," all the while making it clear they are clueless about adoption. I had people with medical training warn me that it was likely I would end up with multiples from the procedure (never mind the fact we only transferred 2 embryos). And I've had people out right tell me that I'm hurting my children because I'm undergoing this procedure, because "we don't know the consequences of THOSE drugs."

Because of the backlash, Grey and I have been quiet with this FET cycle. Family, close friends and coworkers know what we are currently undertaking. But unlike last time, I don't feel the need to educate the general public about this process. Mainly because I'm still raw from last time. Mainly because I don't care what they think.

But I'm noticing the same thing from Grey. He's been quiet this cycle. Sure he's been supportive, but it's noticeable how cautious he is with talking about our snowbabies. It's clear both of us are scared. Scared of the tidal wave of pain that could come. And so we are both steeling ourselves for that moment, bracing for impact.

Because of this fear, I've spent the past few days looking for distraction. Friday morning, I wandered over to the beach and spent time walking along the water. I was thankful for the sun, as the few days before were cold and windy. A good dose of vitamin D always helps my mood.

St. Patrick's Day was spent with friends, passing the time talking about life, traveling and the perils of cheap bourbon. 

But mainly I've been meditating and knitting. I dug out the Circle + Bloom program I used during my first IVF cycle and have been listening 1-2 times a day as a way to connect with the embryos in hopes that they can feel the love I'm sending them. And when I can't do that anymore, I knit. Knit to keep my hands and mind busy. Knit to block out all the negative thoughts.

What I realized this morning, following a particularly tough meditation session, is that all of this comes down to one thing: self-preservation. I don't know what the outcome of this cycle will be, but I'm determined not to jinx it by spending the next week in a pit of despair. But I also can't allow my hopes to be high either. I learned that lesson a long time ago about how damaging disappointment can be. I've crawled back into my cave, waiting with my back to the wall for the storm.

Self-preservation is a skill many IFers will master. For us, it becomes a ritual. Each of us will develop habits or patterns for dealing with disappointment, fear or grief. As I read different blogs, I've found that those each act is different, a common theme emerges. Distraction and searching for signs of hope. Distraction comes in many forms, be it exercise, a mini-vacation, work, time with friends/family, volunteering or crafting, just to name a few. The search for signs usually comes from searching the blogosphere or internet, looking for cases similar to our own or stories from others who have traveled a similar path and now have a happy ending. We search for information, hoping for something that will help us turn the corner and find our happy ending.

This cycle has been laced with self-preservation. From the beginning, I've spent a lot of time steeling myself for any bad news, putting into place distractions along the way. Even now, as I look at the photo of the embryos inside me, it's hard to believe that any of this is real. That it's not a dream. Hence I refuse to analyze ever twinge or pang and I'm denying anxiety access. 

Today is 4dp5dt. Five more days to go. Just enough time to fortify my cave.