Zen and the Art of Infertility

I thought I was fine. I mean, there have been random minutes throughout the day that I'll start freaking out about IVF but mostly I'm okay. I'm getting work done--not a lot, but a reasonable amount. I'm getting along with my kid reasonably well. I'm sleeping--not as much as I usually do, but I'm not in a major insomniac phase either.

I should have read the neon signs of stress. I lost my wallet. The Chronic Daily Headache is back (might be the NuvaRing, but maybe not). I started crying about the nasty man on the bike. And then I broke down in Dr. Gorgeous's office. I was fine in the morning during my bloodwork, ultrasound, nurse consult, and financial consult. Chipper, even. I was fine--better than fine--when I used my time between appointments to stop at a book store and hang out. I was fine when I got back to Dr. Gorgeous's office. I was getting uneasy sitting in the waiting room with my full bladder, but I was fine overall. Then, after about 45 minutes, I started getting really anxious. So by the time I was done with the mock transfer and Dr. Gorgeous gave me a hug (a hug!), I burst into tears. I finally said, I don't even know why I'm crying. To which she responded, honey, you just had a miscarriage and a failed cycle. Oh, yes, that's it. That's when we had the conversation about being zen.

This is how it goes. This blog to the contrary, I'm not one of those people who walks around freaking out most of the time. I spent years doing speech and theater, so even when I'm stressed beyond belief, it doesn't show outwardly. But there are certain people--and apparently Dr. Gorgeous is one of them--who look at me a certain way and then I'm gone. I guess the stress and the tears are just beneath the surface, waiting for such moments. She said to me I can feel your pain. And it wasn't sympathy, like I feel for you. It was like, you are radiating so much stress it's palpable in this room.

She told me to figure out some way to deal with stress (acupuncture, yoga, gardening, etc.). She asked me if there was anything she/they could do for me. That one I've figured out: if there's going to be more than a 15 minute wait, I'm going to ask if I can wait outside the office and a nurse can either come get me or call me on the cell. Because it's the office itself--despite its soothing new-agey music--that creates anxiety that doesn't need to be there.

I'll go back to yoga on Monday and keep practicing at home. I'm going to read books completely unrelated to my work or my reproductive life. I will take her advice and look at Alice Domar's Conquering Infertility.

Because in a couple weeks, I'd really like an embryo to decide my uterus is a zen place to hang out for about nine months.