waiting for the phone call

If every person's hell will be individualized to what they're most afraid of, or with what they can't deal with very well, mine could very well be waiting for the nurse's phone call. (I feel bad for the nurses to have to make those calls - they are very kind women, and it must be emotionally exhausting to deal with all the bad news. But then again, they all have children waiting for them at home, so whatever.)

DH is coming home from work at noon to wait with me, to hear whether our lone embryo is alive or dead.

I did a great job of staying calm during the last 10 days or so, as I wrote previously. But tonight all went to shit again, and I had crying fits almost all evening. I sat at the edge of the bathtub and screamed into my hands. I miss all my babies, and I can't wrap my head around the idea that we're thawing the last one tomorrow just to let her die. So I drank half a litre of wine, but that didn't help. Threw in a Vicodin, too, and now I'm calmer. Not sure what I'll do when the Vicodin runs out. Still can't find a family doctor, and without one, I can't get that kind of drug. I'm sure they'd want to put me on antidepressants, anyway, and I don't want that, on the off chance that we adopt - I can't have antidepressants on my record. Isn't that a stupid rule?

The most bizarre thing was laughing through my tears. Hawkeye on M*A*S*H still gets me every time. I don't even have to know what the one-liner was - I see him laughing, and then I laugh. I have been in love with him since I was 5 years old, seriously. And today, the weatherman was on TV, warning us all about ARCTIC-MAGEDDON temperatures - minus fifteen degrees Celsius. I screamed out laughing amid my crying because that was truly hilarious. -40 is cold. Not -15.

But I digress. DH says he's afraid he'll come home one day and I will have left him. He prayed yesterday - begging for a miracle. I don't know why we have to beg. We've been grovelling for years - I practically have scabs on my knees - and it's not as though this is some kind of special favour, like winning the lottery. What to believe? That God is in control? Well I think he is cruel, then, as well as incompetent. Should I believe, rather, that God is not at the helm of this, and that he grieves with me? I don't know; that's kind of like letting him off the hook. Should I believe that God is 'testing' me? He'd better not be because I am SICK OF THAT. I mean, look at Job in the Old Testament. He got tested for no good reason at all, imho. And then he gets 'rewarded' in the end, but at what cost??!! Look at all the dead bodies left in the dust (e.g., his dead spouse and children, animals, etc. - why did they have to pay for that 'lesson'? - no, it's all about Job). My theology is all messed up. It's hard for me to believe in God anymore. I don't want to stop believing - it's not as though I'm looking for reasons to ditch my faith - but this infertility crap really screws with all of that. And I know I'm not the only infertile woman who feels this way. If God is screwing around with me, he's definitely not a good judge of character. Because if he was sending me this tribulation in order to test my patience and to bring me closer to him, he'd've been better off caving in and allowing me to get pregnant (and to stay that way) last year, when I was still thankful, in some bizarre way, for the infertility (because it did teach me patience and a deeper understanding of parenting). Now I'm just so over it all. Done and done.

Shouldn't've scheduled this FET during the holidays. I'm sick to death of all the 'Christmas is about family' garbage (since a family is a family only if there are children, of course); I try hard to be good to my family, to friends, and to strangers all the time, not just at Christmastime. I'm also tired of the music about a miraculously-conceived child, the glut of consumption, the rude people in the stores, presents no one wants, and bad weather. Why can't we just all be nice to each other all year long? Why is it all reserved just for Dec 25?

DH's work Christmas party is tomorrow night. So I'll have a dead embryo, and a smile plastered on my face. Open bar, but I don't like getting drunk (contrary to what I must sound like on this blog), especially because I get silly, and I wouldn't want to embarrass him in front of his colleagues. So we are going home when I say so; DH was fine with that.

Wish me luck. I wish the same for you in return.