Let It Go

Let me preface this post with the fact that I'm on a very high dose of estradiol, which is making me quite irritable, and more than a little nauseous (which makes me a little more irritable). No amount of Elsa singing 'Let It Go' will help, although I have the sudden urge to build a snowman. Admit it, you're still in mid-verse "the cold never bothered me anyway!" But I digress: Today's post is more introspective and less hearts and flowers than some of the others. I'm sure that the humor and whimsy will return soon, but today, my thoughts are about the tedious, unproductive nature of worry while trying to conceive.

Stop worrying. Stop thinking about it. Don't let it get to you. Ignore it. It will be what it will be. You can't change it by worrying. It's out of your control. Let it go. I've heard and said each of these things to myself many times, and yet, I find the advice hard to follow. While it's 100% true, I find no comfort in it. Somewhere deep down, I truly believe that if I work harder, try more, wish harder, hope more, and do something different than the next person, I will achieve greater success than they have. In most things in life, this really does hold true. Pregnancy, however, is not one of those things. If you could harness the power all of the hoping and wishing and praying of all of the women that have ever tried to get pregnant for more than one cycle, you could move mountains with it.

But there's a dark side to all of that hoping and wishing and praying: When the one thing that those women had their hopes and dreams set on doesn't happen, doesn't work, or happens and then tauntingly fades away, there's an emotional crash on the backside. Trying to conceive is often a very private adventure full of enthusiasm and excitement. Women daydream about what the positive test will look like, how they'll tell their partner, how their partner will react, how they'll tell their parents, whether or not they'll find out the gender, on and on. And while they're spending a great deal of time getting lost in the joy and visions of what it will be like when baby gets here, nobody entertains what it will be like when the test comes up negative or the doctor shows them an ultrasound with no heartbeat. I mean, who can blame them? You don't want to invite such terrible things to happen. Yet, a majority of the time, those things do happen.

For women trying to get pregnant in their 20s with no fertility issues, the chances of a successful pregnancy are 25%. In other words, they are 3 times more likely to see a stark, one-line negative test than the two lines they've been dreaming of. In their 30s, the likelihood drops to 20% each cycle, and by 40, there's only a 5% chance of successful pregnancy. Of the pregnancies that are achieved, about 1 in 5 will end in miscarriage in the first trimester. The odds are staggeringly pitiful.

So what makes us so punch drunk with visions of onsies and pacifiers and bottles and diaper bags? Certainly there's biology; an internal drive to procreate. But it also seems like the most bitingly painful casino game ever played. You might win big the first time you play - 'hey, my best friend did, so I probably will too.' The random reward schedule keeps you pulling that lever over and over again - 'I've lost so many times, this time HAS to be the winning one.' For women out there like me, we have somehow convinced ourselves that if we "try" hard enough, we'll overcome the odds and find success. I've beat my head against that wall 9 times in trying to conceive my own children. Come to find out, I'm totally normal - statistically speaking. But overachievers don't generally care for 'normal', thus all of the headache and heartache of my unsuccessful cycles.

When I came to the decision to be a stork, however, I was determined to leave the stress and worry to the parents. I wanted to know what it was like to just enjoy the experience of being pregnant. I am still certain that a worry-free pregnancy would be one of the greatest adventures in life, and look forward to it when it happens. Somewhere in the chaos of the hormones and the embryo transfer in August, I slipped back into the overachiever. I wished and I hoped and I tried(?) until the crash. As we embark on our second transfer next week, I am consciously aware that 'it will be what it will be', 'it's out of my control', and I need to 'stop worrying'.

While I know that I'm in a better place to handle whatever result of may come of this next transfer, I also know that it has come at a price. I haven't emailed or Skyped Ellie and Matt as much in the past three weeks as we did leading up to the first transfer. I know that they are excited and nervous, joyful and anxious, and a bundle of all of the emotions that build up in each cycle. While I'm cheering for them in the background, I recognize that I can't ride this roller-coaster with them. This isn't my trying-to-conceive road to walk anymore, and somehow, in watching their journey, I've found my way to letting it go.