Officially one week into the Two Week Wait. And I’m twiddling my thumbs a little bit. Someone should make hold music for your uterus.
Oddly, I take a bit of comfort in saying to myself “I am not pregnant.” Because at this moment in time, I am not. Best case, I’ve got a fertilized egg. But that doesn’t mean anything until it settles in for a 9 month residence.
This approach does an excellent job of keeping me from second guessing every little twinge. Hm… my boobs are sore? That could be anything because I’m not actually pregnant.
To be clear, this is not defeatist. And even if it is, it manages to keep me from being a nonfunctioning weirdo for two weeks. I’ve tried that approach. It doesn’t do anyone any good.
You may recall that I was ecstatic to get a referral a few weeks ago. For a second, it seemed like the healthcare gods were not raining on my parade. Well, those wily healthcare imps are at it again. There is a 2 month wait to see my RE. Whoooomp, whooooomp….
I’m not sure if that is “normal.” It still seems too damn far away, frankly. The blessing is that I get to take 2 months to get comfortable with the idea of infertility treatments. I was so hoping that we weren’t headed down this path that I have neglected to do my hyper-spastic research. Another bonus: I have plenty of time to price out this shit with my insurance company. They are such colossal morons, it’s nice to have this kind of lead time. Besides, you all get two more months of my manic blog posts about pain and misery! Everybody wins! (Note the heavy sarcasm, please.)
In the meantime, I need to find things to do with myself. When I am not bemoaning the state of my cobwebby womb, I am a coach for a girls running team. It combines my favorite things: running and angsty teenage girls. I seriously love how dramatic they are. It’s insane.
We had practice yesterday, and it was miserable. Among many, many terrible things, it poured (Cue screams of “But my hair is getting RUINED!!!”) There was a ton of complaining, and begging that we just cancel practice. One girl was really loud about it when we first took off on our run. I turned to her and said “Oh, we’re running today. The only thing you can decide is how you’re going to do it. Sure, you can complain about it, but that’s your choice.”
This makes me sound like a baddy, but COME ON. It’s a good life lesson, am I right? She seemed to think so, because she sucked it up and completed the run with a lot less whining. (And probably silently cursed me with every step, but whatever.)
So here I am, patting myself on the back for being such a good coach when I realize I have not been taking my own damn advice. I do think perhaps this lady doth protest too much about the shitstorm I’ve found myself in. The bitter truth is that I am on this journey. I can’t change it, but I can decide how I will carry myself through it.
Like a motherf-ing boss. That’s how. *mike drop*