Waves

Thank you all for your wonderful comments. As always, they lift me up.

And I needed some lifting yesterday. It wasn’t the greatest day.

I discovered yesterday that my students (I have no idea who, I don’t even know what period it happened) stole all my Sharpie pens, which were in a little box on my back counter. It was a brand-new pack with 30 colors and now there are only four left. I know missing Sharpies aren’t a big deal, but it’s the principal of it that hurts. I give these students so much of myself and… they steal from me. I give and they take, literally. How little regard they must have for me to do that. It just makes me so incredibly sad.

And then I got rear ended on the freeway, picking Isa up from school. Luckily there was traffic and I wasn’t going very fast. I’m pretty sure I’m fine, though my back may be a little tweaked (nothing a visit to the chiropractor can’t cure) and my back bumper will need to be replaced. The poor guy who did it was so upset, apologizing profusely. I told him, this is just a blimp on the radar of life. It’s really not worth getting bent out of shape. I hope my attitude helped him manage his anxiety.

At home tonight my friend shared some advice she was given about my diagnosis from an RE via Twitter. It was all about how I don’t have much time left and I need to be proactive. I’m glad to have people’s opinions, especially professionals, but it once again reminded me of my diagnosis and how little hope there may be. It’s just hard to hear.

Today is just one of those days when the sadness settles. In an email to a blogging friend recently I described acceptance as the ocean: it comes in waves, with all the pushing forward toward peace and the pulling back into despair, it can be hard to see that the tide of acceptance is coming in, ever so slowly. Today was a day when the waves pulled out, exposing my raw heart to the harsh sand of this seemingly hopeless situation. But soon the wave will come crashing back in, and I will feel better again.

Back and forth, back and forth, until I wake one morning and realize the warm water of acceptance is all around me, the tide has come in and I can bathe in it forever. I look forward to that day.

7 responses

  1. You are definitely going to have good and bad days. It’s the joy of infertility (yes this was dripping in sarcasm). Even though I feel your sadness I feel like a definite weight has been lifted from you. The diagnosis was not great but I think with the knowing you can move forward and I would rather know than be stumbling in darkness. You are doing great. And to the little shit that stole your sharpies….karmas a bitch 😐

  2. And I really love the image of the ocean. Funny, because my nightmares are tsunamis and waves and tides. But I’m starting to realize that maybe I need to ride the waves right now, and maybe the current will take me to new shores.

    Anyway. Not about me.

    With the “you don’t have much time” advice, it’s true that there is a ticking clock associated with your eggs. BUT. BUT. I have a friend who has been dealing with premature ovarian reserve for years now, and she’s on the way to having three kids. Your AMH is INDICATIVE of a problem, yes, but it doesn’t mean every one of your eggs is shite. And it could change if you and Mi.Vida get healthier, too – a blogger friend of mine saw her FSH and AMH normalize after she took up running.

    The fact is that no one knows the CAUSE of ovarian reserve issues. It’s possible that your instinct to focus on getting healthier might be the best, most proactive thing you can do. You just never know.

    xoxo

  3. Even though it feels like the only “proactive” thing you can do is charge straight into conventional treatment, I’d say it’s being proactive to work to improve your (collective) health. Time ticking away is a reality, but it’s a reality for everyone. I wouldn’t rush into treatments you aren’t ready for because you’re running out of time, but for myself, I’d set a timeline for when it’s time to move on (whatever feels right to you two). For us, I feel like we waited perhaps longer than we should have to seek help, and maybe that was time “wasted” and maybe it wasn’t, but it’s how I feel right this minute. A timeline sooner in the process would have been helpful in the whole thing, in me feeling all right with what’s gone down since we started TTC (and don’t get me wrong, shocking magical pregnancy is cool by me, but the big child spacing gap grates on my nerves right now, like I should have done something differently or at least HAD a plan).

  4. I love that analogy. And you’re so right – with the ” pushing forward toward peace and the pulling back into despair” it is hard to see progress. It doesn’t mean you like what is happening – but it does help to be able to understand it.

  5. I’ve been reading your blog for the past few weeks, but just haven’t known what the right thing is to say. While your writing has consistently struck chords, tonight’s post was particularly poignant … regardless of what comes next, I hope the warmth you seek finds and soothes you.

  6. The image of the Sea of Sorrow is so apt. I’ll be sitting with that one for a while.

    I understand about the Sharpies. A betrayal by one’s own students is hard.

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