Yesterday was the stuff of nightmares for me. This is going to be a long and complaining post, so bear with me.
We had another family gathering. Yes, family gatherings happen a lot with B's family - it's huge! On the ride over, my SIL mentioned the names they're considering for their baby. A little background: it's an Ashkenazi Jewish tradition to name a baby using the first letter of the name of someone who has passed away in your family. My husband is a "B" because his grandfather was a "B". My FIL passed away last year, so everyone is focused on "S" names. I understand that this limits the possibilities, but when the names they mentioned were the exact names we "chose" months ago, (since you can't really "choose" unless you're pregnant) I just felt...miserable. We've been trying since well before my FIL passed away. We had planned out how we'd tell my in-laws about our pregnancy. When he died, it was so hard to think about those plans. He would have been the most amazing grandfather. Picking a name that paid tribute to his memory became our next plan. And all of this planning happened before we even knew what was wrong. Yes, I do realize that there are other names out there. Maybe this even means that what we wanted wasn't meant to be. But it felt like one more reminder of what we're missing and what we might not ever have. It made me see that the deep wounds I have really haven't healed as much as I thought. Everything suddenly felt very raw.
Thus I was already shaken before we even got to the party. Once we were there, another person announced her pregnancy. She's not directly related to B's family, but she's at many family events. So once again everyone at the party was either pregnant or a mother. Everyone except me. All of the women were talking about the best places to shop for maternity clothes and what foods they couldn't eat. They shared tips on dealing with morning sickness. I ended up in another room watching football with B.
The afternoon continued on a downward spiral. It's a tradition at these gatherings for the first cousins and their spouses to do shots together. The first shot was dedicated to all of the successful fathers-to-be. Mind you, this followed another round of high fives and "Good job, buddy!" comments directed at the men who'd managed to get their wives pregnant. So poor B was left out again. And I'm not drinking during IVF. I know that some RE's say it's okay, but it's something I'm not willing to risk. So when the time came to do the shots, I said I couldn't and they kept insisting...when I refused again, it was like all eyes in the room focused on my stomach. Exactly what I needed at the moment.
It wasn't hard for me to find the time to think about my situation at the party because I really felt like I didn't belong. It made me start to wonder why it's so hard for me to talk to people about IF and IVF. If I had some other disease or illness, I know people would be concerned. They'd want to know how I was feeling and what kind of treatment I was receiving. No matter what stupid soap operas portray, IVF isn't exactly a quick and painless process. Not only does it involve some pretty complicated medical procedures, it follows months and months of continued disappointments as you try and try only to find yourself at CD1 again. The emotional toll it's taken on me is considerable. I feel an almost compulsive need to tell people what we're going through...but I don't know how. And do I really want them to know? If it doesn't work, I don't want to have to deal with telling them it failed. It's just such a mess right now.
On a positive note, my sister sent me flowers to cheer me up today. Totally unexpected and so needed. I'm going to spend some extra time with my meditations tonight and will hopefully be in a better place tomorrow. I just wish I didn't feel so blindsided and sad.