All grown

Bossy nurse is requesting lots of paperwork and tests (blood-typing, who knew?) and telling me that we may not be ready to go this cycle (which will probably start in a week and a half). I'm scrambling to get additional paperwork from previous docs (I thought I had it all), and the new bloodtests ASAP, but also trying to breathe. And telling myself that it is not going to be the end of the world if we don't start this cycle. Problem is, I have some possible job contracts and travel which likely conflict with the start of the cycle after this next one. And in this economy it feels crazy to say no to work. I just don't know. It may be awhile before we get up and going again. I'm trying not to feel desperate. And even though bossy nurse is talking about how we have to get the treatment plan (injectables) approved by the insurance company before we can start, and that takes several days, and I'm so scared they'll say no, I try to remember that the doctor looked at me last week and said, "well, with 6 failed cycles, you're definitely infertile, and this will be covered." But really, the light at the end of the tunnel seems still pretty far off. And we haven't insem'ed since October and I'm 37 and I've got to remember to breathe. 

The thing that makes me the most happy is the adoption class (first step in the process at the agency we've chosen) that we will attend at the end of the month. Adoption was always a choice we were excited about, and then I diverted down this crazy-making (and so far not-baby-making) fertility route that became all-consuming. Feeling like I may never get pregnant, or the insurance company might say no (we're really out of money after paying out of pocket all last year and are really counting on insurance or I don't know what we'll do), it all feels like roadblocks and fear. Thinking about starting the adoption process, though I know it has its own challenges, feels all expansive and good. The only thing keeping me sane is that both options are on the table ..... 

I took a relaxation class earlier this week. One of the exercises the facilitator gave us for dealing with anxiety was to write a letter to ourselves now, from ourselves thirty years from now. So I picked up my pen, and without even thinking, my 67 year old self wrote, "Dear Self, your kids are all grown now ... " And then I burst into tears. Because it's true. Our kids, whether my body makes them or we adopt them, will be all grown up in thirty years. This year of infertility games won't be the story. It won't be the important part. 

And she begins to breathe again.