Someone please tell me why you can get nitrous oxide for something as simple as getting your teeth cleaned, but removing a chunk or two of flesh from my endometrium doesn’t warrant so much as a Tylenol. Seriously?
I had 2 biopsies almost 10 days ago and I’m still involuntarily crossing my legs when I see anything that vaguely reminds me of a speculum. Shudder.
My internal monologue picks and scratches compulsively at any moment of silence I ever hoped to have. I hear a nagging deep within—a voice thickly smearing guilt between the cracks of my next steps.
But here’s the truth.
I am so done with all the pokes and prods. I’m so done with the tests.. and they haven’t even really started.
I still have 2 lab requisitions sitting in my purse. One is for a sonohysterogram, and another promises some more blood work. I have no idea what could be left to test for. And I am beyond caring.
I was supposed to call the clinic on Day 1 of my cycle to book the sonohysterogram. I never did. I was supposed to go to the hospital to get my other bloodwork done. I didn’t do that either. I can’t bring myself to go.
I think I need a break. I just want to enjoy my life for a while. Enjoy my daughter. Do some creative work that I can sink my teeth into and feel good about. Take care of my health and nurture my soul.
So why do I feel like the bad guy?
With all this in my back pocket, I walked up to Hubs with what I hoped was a casual air.
“I’m not going to do any more tests right now.” I blurted it a little too loud; maybe a tad too forceful. It definitely wasn’t my best ice-breaker.
“Ok..” Hubs went to put his arm around me but then seemed to reconsider. His hand hovered in mid-air.
“I don’t want..I just don’t want.. to think about it. For a while.”
“Ok. I am totally ok with that.” Yet somehow he looked hurt and I instantly hated myself. I could see all the questions in his eyes. ‘Are you ok? Are we ok? Do you still want kids? Do you still love me? Are you unhappy with our marriage? What’s a ‘while’?..’
But he didn’t say any of those things. It just all seemed to hang there. Neither of us moved. The faucet dripped noisily.
“Ok then.” I said.
“Ok.” He echoed.
We both stood for a moment more, wondering if the other was bluffing.
And then we went about pretending that everything was just the way we wanted it.
Turns out that of all the tests, this one is the hardest.
I would gladly roll up my sleeve and get 50 vials taken, than have my relationship stressed.
I know it’s normal. Tons of couples feel the strain of fertility issues. For some people it becomes a deal-breaker, but on the flipside lots of marriages grow stronger because this particular issue forces some serious introspection and communication.
I’m still healing—physically, mentally, emotionally—and I may be for longer than I care to admit. I can’t just ‘snap out of it’ and move on like last year never happened. I certainly can’t paste on a smile and pretend that planning our kitchen renovation is going to make everything all better. I have to stick to what is right for me and my family, and that is a very scary road when it feels like it’s leading away from everything you both thought you knew.
Hubs is healing too even though he has a harder time recognizing that he’s even going through anything. But I see it. I see the strain. I see the awkward shift of his dreams on the everyday level as he tries to roll with the punches.
It’s tough, but we’re in it together. Love right now means brave faces, pursed lips, awkward silences, and faith that everything will turn out the way it’s meant.
Now, where do I get that nitrous?