I’m sitting here in a progesterone induced stupor, trying not to feel anxious or guilty about the fact that I really feel too drowsy to do much of anything this afternoon.  So, I thought I’d write a post.

A week ago, I was walking home from my therapist’s office.  It was two days before retrieval.  In the session we had talked about how I have a tendency to get ahead of myself and feel the need to plan/worry about things way before necessary.  I was mentally skipping over this cycle entirely, and already hashing out the details of a future DE cycle.  It’s just what I do.

As I walked home from her office (I’m incredibly lucky that this walk is through a beautiful arboretum) I remembered a walking meditation that has worked really well for me in the past.  Wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, I just repeat in my head “I have arrived.”  It’s a really simple phrase and usually matches the rhythm of my breathing nicely.  It’s too bad I don’t remember to use it more often, because for some reason it immediately brings me to the present.  I am instantly reminded to look around and listen – to really pay attention to my surroundings and find something to appreciate – some kind of beauty.  It’s worked when I’ve been doing dishes, or have been waiting on a crowded, hot subway platform.  Repeating that on my walk home, I suddenly became very aware of the sound of the breeze in the trees, and the smell of the grass and flowers.  I could hear all the birds chattering away.  And the surprising thought that came to me was:  our baby could be conceived this week-end.  Wow.

I know I’m probably not alone in feeling like the possibility of actually making a baby gets buried beneath all the injections, fear, IVF lingo, and protective armor that go along with all this – especially after multiple failures.  After awhile, we go through the motions, but can we really afford to hope?  On that walk home, I was able to really let that possibility in.  Yes, it might not work out, but for now I’m hopeful that it will.  I’m hoping that my perfect little 8 cell embryo has burrowed in for the long-haul, and that it’ll become our baby.  And if it does, I can tell her about the day I walked through the arboretum, listening to the birds and smelling the flowers, looking forward to her arrival.

– Patience

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