The Candy Aisle

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When I was around five or six, I wanted a piece of candy from the drugstore. The only thing standing in my way of getting that piece of chocolate, was my grandfather. So, like every other spoiled but adorable child who doesn’t yet understand the concept of gratitude, I immediately kicked my sweet grandfather in the shin before he could finish telling me no. What I won’t tell you is that this grandpa is the same grandpa, along with my grandma, who had just taken my sister and me to an outdoor museum to run around and eat a three-foot-long licorice whip. I won’t also tell you that these are the same grandparents who saved their hard-earned money and set aside college funds for me and my siblings. If I told you all that, it would make me look even worse.

Unfortunately, the candy aisle incident is not the only time I reacted poorly to being told no. Around that same time, I’m sure it was developmentally appropriate, I wanted to play with my sister. My sister has always been the rational one, the one who sees an outcome or explanation long before I do. I’m the animated and naïve younger sister even in adulthood. Upon hearing that my sister did not want to play with me, I did what any rational and empathetic child would do; I bit myself in the arm and proceeded to tell my parents that it was my sister who had bitten me. When called downstairs by my parents to find out why my sister, normally such a calm and caring individual, had bitten me, she rationally explained, like a seasoned lawyer, how it couldn’t have possibly been her who had bitten me. My sister, as if she was telling my parents about her day at school, coolly laid out that the bite mark on my arm was much too small to have been from my sister. I, in fact, was the biter of my own arm. The fact that my sister still brings up this incident doesn’t bother me at all.  I mean, why would it? Does it hurt that she never thanked me for biting my own arm instead of hers? Of course it does!

We are now in our fourth year of trying to start a family. Through these four years we have waited for answers, start dates, results, and next steps. We were to start our round of IVF last spring, but we ended up having to wait until the summer. In all honesty, I thought our cycle would be done by now, but there is still more waiting. I am not where I want to be in this process and there is no one I can kick to express my frustration. I don’t even want to bite my own arm and blame it on the doctor, or the pharmacist, or the endless tests, ultrasounds, and bloodwork. The only thing that helps is a good cry and, sometimes, a large bag of fries and a can of Michigan beer.

This Thursday, I go in to have my endometrial lining biopsied. This test is to help determine when my body is ready for implantation. In preparation, I’ve taken more pills and daily shots in the rear. I won’t even bring up the pills that are taken vaginally because that just seems like I’m bragging or something. After I have my test on Thursday, we have to wait another two to three weeks for the results. Once the results come back, I will either prepare for the egg transfer or, if the results were inconclusive, I will have to wait another month to complete yet another biopsy of my lining. In essence, I wait, go in for the test, wait some more, and wait some more.

There are days when I don’t know what to do with myself. My fallback reaction is to put a smile on my face and pretend everything is ok. Another fallback is to scream in the car. On the rare occasion that I let myself feel miserable, I cry until my eyes are puffy and snap at my husband when he tries to take me out to dinner. This is my reality right now. Gone are the days of a fresh shin to kick or pudgy arm to bite. I don’t know how to react to being told no over and over. Where do I place the frustration? Sometimes, I can put my anger on the page and other times my anger is put out by Great British Baking Show reruns, but nothing helps permanently. The only answer to waiting, as my body gets older and our embryo sits in a large canister at the doctor’s office, is to wait. There is literally nothing I can do to speed up the process or guarantee the result we want. It sucks, but I’m trying.