I love roller coasters. I love the fluttery feeling in the pit of my stomach as the car climbs a steep incline almost as much as I love the feeling of careening back down. MKL, for the record, does not like this feeling at all (the image on this post might actually make her queasy). Roller coasters give her whiplash, as we learned on a trip to Universal Studios this spring. But like them or not, they’re the best possible metaphor for the ttc ride. You have no idea how long the ride will last; you never just forge straight ahead…there are always bumps, twists, and seemingly insurmountable hills. It is at once exhilerating and terrifying. Case in point:
This morning I awoke in tears (sorry again, honey). I realized that today marks just one week until we find out if this cycle was a success. My first thought was, “It’s not long, now! Only 7 more days until we can start re-decorating the spare room! Just one more week until I can start telling more people! Only 168 more hours until I can post the joyous bfp!!”
And then the other shoe dropped…right on my face.
I’ve already been through the very Pollyanna-esque (and not at all ECL-ish) thoughts like: “no matter what, this cycle is a success because we know my body responded correctly to the meds” and “it’s ok if it doesn’t happen the first time around…we know it will probably take more than one try.” But in all honesty, the minute that doctor said the words “ok – we’re done,” I was filled with hope. I told myself that I’m pregnant until someone can prove otherwise. I pictured the nursery and heard our house echo with the sounds of a newborn cry. And now, in just one week I might hear the words I’ve dreaded, and have to post the awful bfn. So I cried. And cried. It was as though the excitement that comes with reaching the next stop on the journey was completely overshadowed by some cruel Dick Clark countdown to the end of hope. I could no longer see the nursery or hear the baby crying – all I could see was the next round of meds, the next specimen order, the next trigger shot, and the next miserable two week wait.
About an hour later on the way to work, I got nauseous again. It might have been caused by the sea of taillights ahead of me as I fought the Atlanta traffic. It might have been because of the hormone. Or…it might, just might be a new life starting inside me. And the roller coaster crested the hill while I giggled and screamed all the way down.