Happy early Saturday morning internet people. I’m sitting at my appointment in the lobby of one of the other offices since they don’t see patients out of the closer office on weekends, and wow are there a bunch of people here this morning. I’m used to being the only person or one of two waiting in the lobby at the other office. It’s strange. And the couch isn’t as comfortable. Maybe I’m nervous that they’re going to tell me that I will have to be on injections for another few days. I’m at the point that I am having a really hard time letting hubs stab me every night. It’s a game of roulette, will it hurt today? Which one will be worse? Will I start bawling my eyes out? Will I curse and threaten hubs? Will today be the day that he loses it at me for being so difficult? I don’t know. And at the same time, knowing that if they tell me that I’m ready for surgery, then that means I have to do the surgery soon. Ug. I hate this entire process. I’ve found some great support through unlikely people and places, and at the same time I’m ready for this to be done and I know I’m nowhere near being done getting poked and prodded. ..
I find that talking about this openly is a double edged sword. It invites questions and empathy, and at the same time it feels discouraging when the majority of the people I talk to about it have zero concept of what this is like.
I also find it symbolic that I’m sitting at a fertility clinic on the day of the organized women’s march protests across the country from the recent presidential inauguration. After this I’m going to work with two young women who are dealing with their own traumas, and then I’m trying acupuncture, and then back to my personal life. Strange how the universe works. Going from being vulnerable to helping the vulnerable to being vulnerable as an individual and in society while also having to put out an air of strength and security. God, being a woman is hard.
We’ll see what happens in a few minutes. Maybe I’ll have more direction. Maybe I’ll feel some peace?