Monday night this week I flew from New York to Western Canada. Thursday (yesterday) I flew back. This morning I am aboard yet another train on the Long Island Railroad to be stuck in already-bruised arms with my last weekly IV of Intralipid 20% at Dr. Braverman’s office. This is my third cross-continent Intralipid trip in as many weeks.
I am exhausted. Financially. Emotionally. Physically. Exhausted. The tank is empty and the tires need rotating.
When (not “if”, please) I get pregnant I will have to come back on October 24th for the first bi-weekly infusion of Intralipid. I would love to make that trip.
[God, if you are listening (of course you are), please hear my prayers and the prayers and wishes of those who have been so kind and supportive and who want this to work almost as much as I do. As you have heard my prayers for them, please hear their prayers and mine now.]
There are no words to express the depth of longing, the intensity of my desire for my upcoming transfer to yield a viable pregnancy that my immune system does not destroy. My jaw aches from my efforts to hold it still, to stop it from trembling, from clenching to bite back tears. I think about birthing another child I have carried and my chest throbs to the point of bursting.
If ever I understood and believed in the value of detaching from outcome, that wisdom has seemed lost to me lately. I sensed this morning that this needs to change.
I cannot lie. I want this with every ounce of my soul and physical body. I am obsessed. As the LP said it seems this is all I think about. Even when it isn’t, thoughts of this transfer and what it not working might me flood me with anxiety. Acknowledging this has given me all the more reason to practice detachment to outcome.
Here goes. I set my intentions:
1. May our embryos – Gertrude and Alice – survive the thaw.
2. May my transfer on Tuesday go smoothly.
3. May either or both of Gertrude and Alice implant deeply.
4. May my immune system play ball.
5. May I have a safe, healthy and successful pregnancy.
There. Now my task is to let go. This I know. I must set my intentions and, like seeds in the palm of my hand, breathe life over them and watch them sail away, landing where they will and – I hope – taking root to bear the sweetest fruit.
Please, God. Please, Universe. Please be gentle with my intentions. They are all I have left. I surrender freely.