Leaps of faith and courage

This has been a week of challenges.  First, I started bleeding while on the birth control (oral contraception) pill prescribed by the RE to quiet my reproductive system as we lead up to the IVF cycle I’m scheduled to start just before Christmas.  Not spotting.  A full-on bleed.  Although I know women who have experienced “breakthrough bleeding” while on The Pill, I have never been among their ranks.  And I was on this same pill for a decade before trying to make a human.

I quietly freaked out, then felt a little pissed (I’m on the pill and I’m bleeding and I have a party to go to this (past) weekend? Seriously?).  Then I called the RE’s office.  A nurse called me back and said this was normal.  It is known as breakthrough bleeding.  Even if it resembles a period and not off-and-on spotting.  I am to carry on taking The Pill, preferably at the same millisecond of the day every day, until December 19, 2013 as originally planned.  The fun continues.

All of this fun makes for boring posts.  And a long wait.  To liven things up, I’ve been trying to communicate with our spirit baby.  And getting acupuncture (in which the acupuncturist actually worked to stop the bleeding and – fingers crossed – it seems to  have worked).

Before you roll your eyes (as I might have this time last year), you should know something about me.  I am not granola.  I don’t get tarot card or tea leaf or energy readings.  I have a hard time with yoga if it’s taught by someone airy-fairy.  I have a very serious, professional, responsible job in which people’s livelihoods and businesses are in my hands and the hands of others like me.  Even as a child, I despised fantasy literature.  I’m a realist and a literalist, if ever there was one.

Not exactly the kind of person you’d expect to be embracing the paranormal.  Or talking to spirits.  And, to be fair, I’m not particularly good at it. I kind of suck.  But I’m learning.  And it scares the daylights out of me.  I am scared to believe in what I think is happening, and terrified not to believe in it.  I am afraid of admitting I do this and of being ridiculed for it.  I am afraid to tell the LP because I worry about him having me committed.  Or medicated.  Actually, medicated might be okay.  Committed, not so much.

I digress.

Dear reader, as largely anonymous as you and I may be to one another, this is too close for comfort.  I am afraid to share these great leaps of faith I’ve been making with you.  And yet, this morning I feel somehow compelled to do so.  I have the sense that my spirit baby, the little mate I’ve been communicating with (or think I have), wants this.   Needs it.  Is insisting I lay my heart bare and tell you (and admit to myself) what has been happening.

So tell you I shall.  Rather, I will try.

Before we do that, I need to tell you about my EFT session earlier this week.  If you’ve read my earlier posts, you will know that I was not sold on this relaxation/self-help/healing technique.  I started it on the repeated prior recommendation of my beloved first fertility acupuncturist (who had the nerve to get pregnant and be on maternity leave during this year’s journey into hell and back, but perhaps that was another of her lessons for me?).  I trusted the advice, so when I was pregnant for the third time this year, in the summer, I was suffering such terrible anxiety about something being wrong with baby, I made an appointment for help from the emotional freedom technique (EFT) coach that fertility acupuncturist #1 had recommended.

That first EFT session was helpful on one hand.  However, the painful message I took from it was that I was an expert at scaring myself and nothing was wrong.  But something was terribly wrong.  And in my heart, my gut – somewhere, everywhere – I knew it.  Baby’s heart stopped about two weeks later and pregnancy #3 this year ended like the two before it.  Well,  not exactly like them.  I miscarried naturally the first two times, but needed a D&C this last time.  But they all ended.

After baby died, in September, I was so angry with the EFT coach.  I wanted to shout at her: I AM NOT AN EXPERT IN SCARING MYSELF!  I AM AN EXPERT IN MY OWN INFERTILITY!  Except I was a little less articulate at the time and the message sounded more like “You’re an idiot.  You were wrong.”

Because of this, it took me a while to go back to EFT and start using up some of the 4 extra sessions I had paid for at that first visit.  Had I not paid for those sessions, I may never have gone back.  In fact, I am pretty sure I would not have continued.  Now, I am so grateful that I paid in advance and, despite the voice of broken rage railing against it after baby’s heart stopped,  I followed through and kept trying.  Thank you, me.

If it were not for the EFT, I’m not sure I would be as open to some of the other messages I’ve been getting by doing the 21-day meditation challenge that Oprah and Deepak Chopra have running at the moment (and I would never have signed up for that if not for my current fertility acupuncturist – thank you, awesome person and caregiver!) and, more importantly perhaps, the Spirit Babies meditations I have been practicing (without any regularity, I must admit).  I am grateful to my two fertility acupuncturists and my EFT coach and to ME for helping me open my heart, mind and body to these new experiences and a greater sense of hope.

So, the EFT session this week.  I asked to work on my fears that this IVF cycle we are about to embark upon will not work.  The EFT coach drilled right down:  “I am too old.”  “This will never work.”  Yep.  Those are the core fears.  We worked on those.  My EFT coach also wanted me to work on shame, so I had to come up with a memory of a time in my life I had felt shame.  Between those two things, an hour whizzed by.  I won’t bore you with the details, but I learned that I am different from when I started EFT.

I see things differently.  And, like the Nietzsche observation about the abyss looking back into you when you look long into it, I perceive things (including challenges) as being different when they stare me in the face.  I see differently and the things I see are different.  No, I’m not being medicated.  Perhaps this is a simple feedback loop, but I’ll take it.  Whatever works.

The truth is, I have an open heart.  I thought I did before, but I see now that fear was still lurking there, waiting to slam that heart shut at any given moment.  I looked deeply into fear and fear looked deeply into me.  Now, I have made a friend (of sorts) of my fear.  Or I’m trying.  We are a work in progress, fear and I.  We are having a dialogue now, not a fight to the death.  Without this, I do not know that I would have tried to “speak” to our spirit baby.  And I doubt I could have “heard” anything even if I did try.

I’ve come a long way, baby.   I am deeply grateful to be here.

And on that note, I’m going to end this post before telling you about what the spirit baby and I have had to “say” to one another recently.  Stay tuned for that.  And wish us luck.  Please.

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5 thoughts on “Leaps of faith and courage

  1. “The Nietzsche observation about the abyss looking back into you when you look long into it, I perceive things (including challenges) as being different when they stare me in the face”—thank you for writing about this. It is so very helpful, insightful, thoughtful. I am struggling with so many of the same things. You are helping remind me to become friends with my fears. I know that it is crucial that I change my state of mind before this next transfer…I don’t even know where to begin, I’ve worked on myself so many times in so many different ways…I have to trust that I will find the way…

  2. Do you already do meditations or affirmations? I do but also really like this one hypnotherapist’s recordings with guided relaxation and affirmations for IVF. Sometimes when I am more peaceful I find it easier to be compassionate, gentle and kind with myself and my Monkey Mind. All the best with the next transfer. My heart aches for you and I hope this next time is the charm.

  3. Pingback: Why I don’t regret | less talking, more writing.

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