I officially start my new job this week Friday, which means today, tomorrow, and Thursday are going to be BUSY. Transition plan from my old position to my new position is finally ironed out and not a moment too soon. I’m busily telling contractors I work with on a regular basis but was not allowed to tell until very recently that they will have a new primary contact here as of Friday. I hate springing it on them like this. I feel like I’m abandoning them. I’m trying to clean out 6 years of stuff in my office and move it to my new office downstairs, and I cannot find any boxes. I’m transitioning projects to the poor guy who is going to be taking over my stuff until they find a replacement for me. I have to travel for my new job next Saturday, and I can’t figure out when I’m going to spend time preparing for that.
But the biggest thing of all– the thing really filling me with dread and diarrhea– is that our IVF orientation got moved up to this afternoon. So this is all really happening. We’ll get the protocol today (and probably the final $$ amount), and Vanessa will learn to shoot me up with all kinds of new and exciting drugs that I have to start taking late in June. I can’t believe we’re really doing this. IVF is that thing I’ve watched stories about on shows like 20/20. It’s extreme. It’s high tech. It’s something film stars do between movies because they haven’t had time to get pregnant otherwise. It’s that thing that 60-year old women travel to South Africa to have done because doctors in the US won’t do it. It’s the last thing a granola girl like me ever wanted to do. It’s the thing I said I wouldn’t do at the start of all of this. I wanted to get pregnant the old-fashioned way; you know– in my own bed with a turkey baster and Vanessa and candlelight and the mellow tunes of Tracy Chapman or Natalie Merchant playing in the background. This feels like someone else’s life.
And if it doesn’t happen after IVF? How do I deal with that? How do I deal with the guilt and disappointment of spending all that money and putting us both through all of these doctors appointments and injections and procedures and still not achieving the goal of a “natural” journey into motherhood where I get really big and Vanessa gets to put her ear to my belly and feel our baby kick and at the end of 40 weeks a real-life baby that looks something like at least one of us shows up? I think I’m more afraid of that disappointment than I am of 12 weeks of PIO injections, the taste of menopause the Lupron is going to provide, or even the giant needle they’re going to use to aspirate my eggs. It adds insult to injury that this is the time when anti-anxiety meds and alcohol are most verboten.