Tomorrow is the trial run for IVF. I'd be lying if I didn't say I was a little nervous about it. I know that probably sounds silly, to be nervous about a trial run, but after all that has happened these last two years, I guess I am a little shell shocked over anything having to do with my baby making abilities.
My understanding for tomorrow's procedure is that I will go through all the steps I would go through on transfer day, with the exception of the actual transfer. This way they can make sure they have a clear shot on that day, and that they don't put any embryos at risk while dealing with hidden surprises. I don't even want to start down the path of thinking about what that means... "hidden surprises."
I don't know what to expect, pain wise, but they did say to take some Rx Tylenol before coming, and that they would send me home with a painkiller after.
There is so much riding on IVF, now that we know it is our only option. Maybe that is where the nerves come from. From knowing this is it. This is our only shot at making rainbow baby(s). Is it selfish of me to ask you all to keep us in your prayers? I know there are so many people out there facing bigger obstacles than ours, we are healthy, we have each other, a home, food on our table, clothes on our backs, but man, when it comes down to baby making, I'll take all the help I can get.
I have been trying to focus on hearing good news. That tomorrow they will say we are all systems "go." Or, at least, all systems "almost go", since we will still need to be put on the waiting list for the injections class.
My focus the last few days has been to visualize a good outcome. I spent a good part of yesterday meditating on it, picturing how I wanted it to go and having everything go fine.
I am a big believer in meditation and visual imagery. Probably another trait that you can throw in my cuckoo file, but whatever. The meditation I used yesterday was one called "Healing Fire." I don't have the name of the woman who wrote it, but I will look for it if anyone wants me to.
Basically you close your eyes and picture yourself coming up to a place where people are standing around a fire. They can be anyone, alive or dead. People from your past, your present and even your future. People that bring you peace. Jesus, Boodah. Doesn't matter as long as they are people you find healing.
You greet them and they greet you and in the center of the circle there is a fire. It's not a fire that would hurt you, more of a healing light. I picture it being purplish white, but that's just me.
When you feel ready in your mind, you step into this fire, and watch as all the painful feelings that have been burdening your heart fall to the ground and burn off like ash. Your mind runs through all the things you'd like to cast away about what has happened to you. The loss, the suffering, the flashbacks, the despair, the hopelessness.
When you are finished letting these things go, what is left is a glowing version of you. Hopeful. Energized. Loving. What is left is the best part of you after all you have been through. The lessons your struggle has taught you. The compassion. The love of new friends that it has brought into your life. The idea is that then, leaving that baggage behind, you are able to move forward.
I did this meditation yesterday to help calm my fears about tomorrow. When I envisioned coming upon the circle, I found people from my past, my grandmother, old friends, people from my real life, people I imagine meeting in my future, and even quite a few of you. There are no words to express the amount of healing I have found in the friendships born of this community.
When I approached the fire, I carried with me all the I can'ts.
I can't have children.
I can't keep my child alive.
I can't bring a baby home.
I can't find happiness.
I can't move forward.
I can't ever feel true joy again.
I can't be a normal person.
I can't overcome this sadness.
I can't forgive myself.
I can't because good things don't happen to me anymore.
Stepping into the fire, one by one, I felt those feelings burn away. I could actually feel the burden on my shoulders getting lighter as I told myself, I can have children, just not the way I imagined. I can find happiness, even though I don't know how yet. I can move forward, I just need to keep fighting. I can feel pure joy again one day, even though it still feels impossible. I can because I deserve to.
Reminding myself of these truths, my feelings of sheer terror about tomorrow transformed into more of a feeling of cautious optimism, and while I haven't yet reached the place where I want to be, truth be told I am still quite a far ways off, that is okay. It's a step, albeit small, in the right direction.
Hey, even Rome wasn't built in a day.