I had what I choose to call an epiphany the other night as I was getting ready for bed. Trying to come to terms with what I want (another child) vs. what I will probably get (a subscription to Basking Weaving, You & You) is impossible. I’m sure there will be a happy medium in it somewhere. Maybe not so much happy, more so medium.
So that’s where you will find me: in the middle of the proverbial road. I’m like Fixodent: the cushy, sticky buffer between one’s sensitive gums and a set of hard, uncomfortable dentures, just trying to keep everything cohesive without allowing in some pesky poppy seed. Now imagine that’s how I am when it comes to Mr. DD and our Infertility. I am the buffer between him and what goes on in my clinic; what goes on within my reproductive organs.
I received an email from Leggy, who has been with me-with us-almost from the beginning. She nailed it when she wrote, "it seems like you keep having to drag [Mr. DD] along in the TTC ride and have to re-convince him each step of the way that whatever you pursue (IVF, DI, embryo donation, adoption) is worth the risks." I not only have to re-convince him, but myself as well. However, I have to admit the difference is is that I try to shield him from those risks, posing as poppy seeds, as much as possible.
He hasn’t been to the clinic in over 6 months, even though I have had three IUIs, a pregnancy, and a miscarriage in that time. It’s no wonder he feels as if he’s been written off. I should have made him come with me to the appointments, at least to the IUIs and to the scans for my pregnancy. He really should have been there to cry in relief with me when I saw that heartbeat that was there against the odds. And he should have been there to hold me when we found out Wolf was dying. I even went so far to beg for left-over drugs though generous donations of some wonderful friends just to lessen the financial burden, especially over this past year as we maintained two households.
It is my nature to protect him from the soul squeezing aspects of infertility, but in doing so I have alienated him from the process. I wonder at times if it doesn’t some how make it less real to him – our infertility and treatments. I’ve mentioned before how we shield X from as much as we possibly can, but in a strange, subconscious manner I’ve been doing it to Mr. DD as well.
We talked briefly the other night about what we might do next. As always, my approach was tentative and so brief, I could almost convince myself it was part of a dream. I know that he wants X to have a sibling since the mention of our son being an only child brings him literally to tears. It’s not how we envisioned our lives (who does?). We were as prepared as two adults could be for the exhaustion that comes with raising childREN. We were not at all prepared for the exhaustion that has come with infertility.
I have to turn over some of that burden or be crushed by it. I’m tired of pretending that I’m doing OK and that putting things on hold doesn’t bother me. It’s time for what I like to call, "a comin’-to-Jesus meeting". I will be calling our clinic once again and scheduling another office visit for both of us. He’s got questions and my answers are poo-poohed as he feels they are canned Google answers. (Could that make them Poo-Poogled?)
I wonder then why am I scared to pick up my phone and hit the speed dial? It must be the Fixodent in me.