The Unspoken Contract

This past week has been a cluster.

The negative.
Then my husband found out he's getting sued and this whole 5-year contract might be falling through and all the opportunity and hope that went with it is slowly waning.

And, then my sister tried to commit suicide.

Wednesday was her birthday.  I sent her a cute little card and exchanged emails with her.  She's been complaining non-stop about her life lately, so I didn't call her. I couldn't stand to hear her say one more time about how sad she is that she isn't going to "get" to have any more children (because she's decided that two is enough and she doesn't want to be pregnant again), or how much she hates her body after her twin pregnancy, or how she feels like her career is off track.  Because, from my perspective, she doesn't have the *right* to complain about these things to me. I can objectively see that these are things that would upset someone, but don't complain about them to your sister that had to go through many, many rounds of IVF to get pregnant and feels her own career is lost after spending 6 years focusing on fertility treatments. 

I say all these things because I feel defensive about why I didn't call her and why I have been distancing myself from her for the past two and a half years.  She doesn't appreciate what she has been given and she regularly complains to me about it and it fucking pisses me off.  I say this because I have been dealing with her anorexia, bulimia, depression, and alcoholism for the past 15 years and I'm tired of it.

What I didn't recognize about my sister is that she is not a tragically weak human with little self awareness, but rather a woman with a mental disorder than can't see truth because her brain won't let her.  She has a problem and no amount of therapy or drugs or self reflection will fix it.

And, I love her.  I can hate her.  I can be sick of her problems.  But, the fact of the matter is that she is my sister and I can't help but love her.  I know her in intimate ways that other people just can't.  I know the face she makes when she has to go to the bathroom. I know when she is manic.  I know the subtext underneath everything she says.  I know that the way my parents raised us has fucked her up (all of us really).  I know that she hates herself and wishes she could be different.  I know she feels guilty asking for help.  I know why she feels guilty asking for help. 

Seeing her in the hospital--her body covered in bruises from her rolling veins and IVs, the patchwork network of scabs on her legs and arms that she picks compulsively when she's anxious, the constant tapping of her shaking fingers from the remnants of drugs leaving her body-- and my heart just broke.  I don't know how to stop her from hating herself.

I also feel so helpless.  I can call her every day.  But, she lies.  She's not honest about what's happening.  She didn't tell me that she's been drinking 36-40 oz of hard liquor a day.  She didn't tell me that she tried to kill herself two weeks ago.  That she's been going to AA meeting again.  She gets violently angry when you say the wrong thing.  She's selfish and self-centered.  She just talks about herself.  It's not an equitable friendship.  It hasn't been for years.  I can sometimes accept it and other times...I get so angry with her.

She's out of the hospital now.  She's in outpatient treatment for alcoholism.  I'm calling her every day.  But, I don't know what else to do/say.  I've asked whether the outpatient treatment program has a support group for family members or some sort of training for family members on how to deal with this.  This is just out of my league.  I don't know what to do. 

You never think about the unspoken contract you have with the people you love.  You never think to say before you hang up the phone: "don't kill yourself, OK?"  You don't think it's a trust that you have until it is broken.

Negative

I would like to say I handled it well.

I didn't cry at first.  As my heart pounded in my mouth and my quivering hands tried to open the pregnancy test, I kept warning myself...do not hope...do not hope.  Only one line appeared.  I have taken this damn test enough to know that if the second line doesn't appear immediately, it's not going to come.  My daughter was crying faintly in the background, so I threw away the test, picked her up and headed downstairs to play with Baby Girl and read the paper.  Two hours passed without a tear.

And then...the rage... the anger...the bitterness.  I picked a nice fight with my husband over buying new shoes for my son.  The day was ruined.  I cried for hours.  I went on a 9.5 mile run.  Took a nap because I was exhausted from crying.  Went to the grocery store.  A walking human zombie.

I hate this.  I try to not hate my life.  I have so much to be thankful for.  But, I am so fucking bitter to be doing this again.  Why can't I let this third baby go and just be done?

I remember this place

They say that deja vu is just a misfiring of neurons, that synapses are connected in a way that makes us think that we have been to a place before, met someone before, etc. This space I am in, this waiting space, is a place that feels so familiar.  Today I am organizing all my IVF files, again.  Writing up my medical history, again.  Hoping that some doctor will be my oracle, again.

We received some good financial news this week.  My husband has won some work that will provide us with a steady stream of work for 5 years and will be in addition to his full time salary.  Of course, the first place that my mind wanders about hearing of this boon is to think that maybe we should scrap our local clinics and head up to Mecca at Weiss Cornell Center for Reproduce Medicine and try out their co-culture.  Without insurance coverage, this would cost us $18-19,000.  The figure just makes me gasp.  Can we do this again?  We've already spent $70,000 on the two children we already have.  This cycle was $8,000 down the drain (I know, I've already given up hope).  How far do we want to fall down this rabbit hole?

I've developed a plan: I am going to take a HPT on Sunday and when I get the negative (most likely), I am going to go for a 10 mile run and then I am going to go to Crossfit for three days in a row and beat my poor little body to a pulp.  Then, I will put on my big girl panties and gear up for IVF #7 using the estrogen priming protocol, hoping for a cycle in November.  In the interim, I am trying to get everything set up for a cycle in December/January at Cornell.  This is freaking madness, people.

1 9-cell, 15% fragmentation

Today we transferred 1 9-cell with 15% fragmentation, grade 2.  Not great, but not awful. 

We're calling him "Tag" as in "Tag, you're it."

Not Growing

Embryo is not growing.  They will check on it tomorrow, but it is not looking good.  I am devastated.  I didn't think I would be.  What was I thinking?

Only One

5 eggs. 4 mature.  Only 1 fertilized.  I had that deep ache in the pit of my belly when I got this news.  So much for ambivalence.  No tears, though.  We'll see if we have anything to transfer on Thursday.  Fuck.

Tardy Eggs

Well, they decided to push back my retrieval to today because my E2 levels just weren't rising enough.  They got 5 eggs.  We find out tomorrow how many fertilized.  I'm hoping for at least 2.  We'll see.

There is something about doing IVF again for the first cycle back in the saddle that isn't so scary, is more hopeful.  I liken it to how we felt when we did the first clomid cycle after Nugget.  I was hopeful.  I really thought we had figured out the problem and that we would actually get pregnant without IVF.  I was excited to get started.

I know that it is false hope in that it was freaking miserable getting pregnant the last time...but this time I am going in with the expectation that it's going to take a long time and it may not even work.  That if we are able to have another child it is a "bonus" child.  As in I already feel so lucky to have my two kids.  I'm sure my emotions will change if/when I get another negative pregnancy test.  But, right now, I'll live with my ambiguity.  Happiness that it might work.  Sadness that it might not.  I am NOT going to let myself get depressed again.

Look at my Big Girl!

Other big news: we have a crawler!!!