Oh, how I wish I could stop being me for a couple of days. I drive myself nuts. I put a “widget” on my cell phone that counts down the days until April 19. We have 89 more gut-wrenching, attention-stealing days to go, thanks for asking.
I am at a place where I am desperate for a baby. This desperation has led my dear husband to assume that I mean any possible baby. How to explain?
No, I do not want to use a sperm or egg donor. No, I am not interested in adoption. I want OUR baby. I believe that adoption is something people feel “called” to do. I do not feel so “called.” It wouldn’t be fair for any child who could be loved by someone who had those driven feelings to get me instead.
The thing that is eating an acid hole in my esophagus right now is IVF. IVF with PGD is an absolute last resort for me. I don’t want to do it. I want to do this the good old fashioned way, and it dawned on me that if that is my desire, then why are we waiting another 89 days for exome results if all I want to do is try again naturally anyway?!?
Let’s just say conversation with husband regarding this new train of thought has not gone well. He thinks I am stubborn. I think he is unreasonable. We are both pushing each other toward things we know the other does not want. I believe we are at an impasse, AND WE DON’T EVEN HAVE THE EXOME RESULTS YET!
I have come to a place in my grief where the unfairness of it all has overwhelmed me. This is not how my life was supposed to be. This is not just the complete obliteration of a life plan, this is the complete obliteration of my personality — of my own self. So now I am set in this impossible place between the realization of unfairness, my completely unrecognizable self, and test results that could mean everything or nothing.
I may not make it past these next 89 days with my sanity. This is like “The Yellow Wallpaper” all over again.
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