I was trying to find a book to choose for the book club this month, and was recommended "What Alice Forgot," by Liane Moriarty. I read it and liked it a lot. It would have been a great choice for a book club. The only problem is that the sister of the book's main character is "crazy." At least that's what I thought the whole time I was reading the book.
She had been doing in vitro for about eight years, about 12 times or so, and was so obsessed about it that she kind of went crazy and almost kidnapped a kid without thinking about it. (Was holding a child and started to walk off with her, but got stopped by her sister.) Anyway, the whole time I was reading the book, I was like, "Lady! Give it up! Stop obsessing about it! Give yourself and your body and mind a break!" And then I read this excerpt from her journal....
"I can hear him in the next room calling Alice. I made him promise
not to tell anyone I was pregnant. I knew he would. Liar. You have
no idea of the fury I feel. Against him. His mother. My mother. Alice.
I hate you all. For no particular reason. I guess it's for the sympathy,
the pity and understanding, but most of all, for the hope. For the
comments I'm about to hear. 'This one could be the one!' 'I Have a
good feeling about this one!' Waves of red-hot fury keep rising up
inside me. I feel sick, and my breasts ache, and there is a funny taste
in my mouth, and we've been here so many times before, and I can't
go through it again. I can't. And the thing that infuriates me the most
is that even though I'm saying it and I'm believing it and I know
with all my heart that I'm going to lose this baby like all the others
I also know that underneath it all, that inanely positive, pathetic
voice is still chirping, 'But maybe....?"
I have had some of these similar thoughts. In fact, this very well could have been a journal excerpt from my last twin pregnancy miscarriage, except I wouldn't use the word "hate." :o) When people tell me "it's so exciting" I kind of roll my eyes. But having said that....I'm actually scheduled to do another cycle in February. Which means that starting mid-January, I will be shooting myself up with more shots and getting fat and having crazy hormones again. Which means I will turn into a complete cynic, who resents my own little "inanely positive, pathetic voice" of hope. And I will walk by the baby clothes aisle in Target and supress the urge to buy the shirt with the stupid monkey on it that says "my mommy loves me." Because you just never know....And even if the pregnancy test comes out positive, and even if there is actually a heartbeat in the ultrasound, and even if there is a baby that comes out of my stomach nine months later, I still have that battle of cynicism and hope. Cause it's a tightrope I have walked for nine years.
And after reading this book and having these thoughts, I realize that I am that crazy lady. How many people out there have thought the same thing about me? And wanted to tell me, "Lady! Give it up! Stop obsessing about it! Give yourself and your body and mind a break!" Well, I guess my defense is that I do the best I can. I try to spread out my pregnancy attempts so that I have time to accept it emotionally and allow my hormones to regulate and lose the extra weight and save up some more money so we don't go into debt over it. And I've tried to keep that balance of hope and realism in my pregnancy attempts. I just gave all my maternity clothes to my sister in law, because the truth of the matter is that I may not ever need them again, or if I do, it could be in a decade when none of it is still in style. And then I tell her that she can return the favor some day if I need them. And I have this blue room in my house that I didn't want to have empty or have as a nursery, because that would be "crazy lady"-ish. So I decided to use it as a toy/play room that can be used as a nursery if that ever becomes a real thing. And I'm comfortable with just having Maddie-Stinker-Pants and being her mother, and using the rest of my energy and time to do great things. And if I never have another baby, I'm seriously okay with that. But then if I do have another one, I'm sure I will fall in love with that baby, the same way I fell in love with my other ones. I have eight little frozen embryos, and as long as they are sitting there in the freezer, I have to have a little hope. Because I'm not going to leave them there indefinitely. I guess if I have to do four more attempts with those little guys, then that is what I am going to have to do.
And that is the line that I walk. Having said that, I will admit that I DID tell my sisters that if I become crazy, that they need to sit me down and tell me straight up.
Needless to say, I did not choose that book as my book choice because the last thing I need is a bunch of uncomfortable women discussing the book in my home as I'm shooting myself up with hormones, and being nervous that I might "walk off" with their baby in my arms. :o)
(P.S. I also just want to say to anyone reading this blog who is dealing with infertility or has had a loss of miscarriage or infant loss - because I know you are out there - that I'm very sorry. I know your heartbreak. But let's try to be nice anyway. Because those family and friends who are trying to be supportive are just trying to be supportive. I'd rather have people wish me luck than say nothing at all. And hang in there....)
P.S. Yes - he was named after THAT Angus. Hence, the plaid/schoolboy collar.
