I wish this month wasn’t hitting me so hard, but it is. I’m trying to be really proactive in doing what I need to do to get through the day, but some days, like today, the sadness creeps in no matter what I do. I would have been 37 weeks tomorrow, officially full term. I sound like a broken record even to myself – would’ve, could’ve, should’ve. I’m not. Why is that so hard to move past?
I met with a new therapist yesterday as a part of my holistic coping plans for both July and for proceeding with another pregnancy. My other therapist is fantastic, but this one specializes in anxiety and depression surrounding pregnancy loss and infertility and I thought it might give me some new insights, which it did. Namely, the idea that I am extremely unlucky, that bad things happen to me, that statistics are never my friends. She asked, haven’t I also had a lot of good luck?
And my first reaction is not really, the great things in my life are things I have worked very, very hard for, but on further consideration nearly all of them at least started with a bit of good luck, didn’t they? My marriage is a great example of this – I have the best partner, and we have a good marriage because we both work very hard to make our relationship great for both of us, but I’ve said since we met that the odds of us ever even meeting were so absurdly small I can’t believe it happened. We met on the online personals, which is not so unusual, except that at the time, Dan did not even own a computer or have internet service. And he is incredibly solitary, has no desire to be around or meet new people, and never gets lonely. To this day he can’t really say what motivated him to create a profile, or contact me. Luck? Divine intervention? Who can say?
Medically, I’ve had worse luck than a lot of people, but even then there are a lot of medical problems that I *haven’t* had. Like high cholesterol, which runs in my family, by which I am strangely unafflicted.
These all seem like good things to focus on, when I start feeling like the world is somehow out to get me.
And I asked her opinion, as a mental health professional who deals with these issues regularly, about whether or not she thinks it would be crazy for us to start trying again next cycle. Her answer? Not crazy at all. That I am handling the grieving in very appropriate ways and that she sees no reason that I should have to wait to “grieve properly,” because I have and I am. That this will still be sad years from now and that doesn’t mean we’re not ready to try for another baby. And I already thought all of this, but it was a giant relief to hear it from someone who is trained to make that call.
And then she said something interesting, that reminded me of something I said to Dan, nearly verbatim, when we decided to try the first time around – she said to her, it sounds like the waiting is just going to make it scarier for me, that I strike her as someone who will only relax once the decision is made, and that in terms of my anxiety it may in fact be healthier to go for it sooner rather than waiting until later. It’s not really going to get less scary.