A dose of reality with a side of repression.

My meds arrived last week. I've been trying to write about it, but I start, write two lines, delete those two lines and then close the window.  Not sure what my deal is. 

Those of you who have survived but only by sheer will endured an IVF cycle understand that the arrival of the box of meds is complicated.  The box holds so much more than meds of every variety - injectable, oral, adhesive and some *ahem* others.  The box represents the journey you are about to take and the baby you could potentially create.  The box represents hope itself.  And it is scary as crap. Seriously.  Because while the box represents hope, it could also just as easily represent failure.  Pain.  Traumatic experiences from which you may never recover.  No kidding.  What did I say?  Scary as CRAP and I'm not even talking about the needles, folks.  It's the EMOTIONAL stuff that really kicks you in the crapper.  

My friend and I were talking about how much we have repressed about the trauma of being infertile ever since we got pregnant and then had our miracle babies.  It's so true, though I never thought about it that way before.  I'm not much for repressing.  I'm all about getting it out there, dealing with it, talking about it.  I've always been very open about going through IVF and my fertility challenges.  So why in the world would I repress?  To reiterate what I said in my first paragraph - it is scary as crap. The maybebaby, the potential failure -- the UNKNOWN.  It's like bracing yourself for the scariest part of the movie.  

I hate not knowing.  I wish I could know RIGHT NOW if it worked.  Too bad since I haven't even done my first injection yet.  

Ready for the ride?  The fun begins on the 4th of July.  

Which is

right

around

the

corner.