Grief

 I have found that my recent doctors visits are causing a wake. I am spun for a couple days after the visit or test. It seems to be more obvious to me now. Maybe it was always like that, but I wasn't as tuned into myself before...but it is like a neon sign to me now.

I can mask fairly well during the visit, but afterwards, it is like a crash. I want to cry and hide and be taken care of. None of which are realistic anymore.

Having to receive monthly infusions now has challenged my sense of self and belief in my strength.

Am I really a strong woman or have I just made myself into a character in my mind? A woman that can handle anything thrown at her. A woman that can balance all the dishes and dance steps. A woman that can smile no matter what is being said about her. A woman that can walk into any room with confidence and poise and carry on a conversation with anyone there regardless of the topic.

Now I feel like a shell, I feel broken and covered in duct tape to hold it together and no one seems to notice because I have enchanted them for so long, they can't see me any other way.

When I saw my doctor last I broke down on the exam table telling her I was overwhelmed and she told me to be thankful of all I have. It felt like a slap in the face.

When I started getting my infusions over a year ago, and all the tests prior to that, I had drawn a line in the sand, that I don't want needles in my hands. I had a horrible experience many years ago from an ER hospital visit where I got a series of small hard lumps in my left arm that took months to resolve. I was in so much pain from them that I told The Barren that I NEVER want an IV in my hand ever again. My line was upheld with one exception, my endo surgery back in 2012.

Yesterday I had to cross it again at my infusion with a new nurse.*

Tuesday (the day before) I went for an MR enterography. For mine, you have to drink two and half bottles of thick fluid that lights up your gut, and then they give you medicine to slow your gut down, and then inject you with contrast, and take a bunch of photos face down in a MRI machine. The nurse tried multiple times to get a line started in my arm, before declaring it done, all the while my left arm, was left sore, swollen, bruised and an unviable option for my infusion the next day. 

*Hence the need to seek new veins.

When the infusion nurse said she'd be gentle and not leave a mark, I had to fold...I had to get my long fought for medicine. My self advocacy tank was empty, what choice did I have?

I quickly set into play a weighing of the options in my mind and thought, 

Ideally this decision will not land me in the ER again. 

A phrase I use far more often these days.

After she placed the IV she stepped away to attend to other matters and I shed a couple tears...I told myself to hold it together until we were somewhere else. Somewhere softer than an artificially lit room, with artificial plants devoid of images, and filled with the scent of rubbing alcohol. I think I was able to wipe the teardrops without being seen. The Barren sent me a text message shortly after that promised I could cry it all away that night when he got home. That idea gave me some extra bravery and I sat a little taller.

Two hours later I was back in my car, and driving to the hardware store to pick up some plants to put into the soil on my patio before the wave of fatigue hit. I went home, ate some rice and tofu and sat in silence. Then around 5pm, The Barren called and said he could not make any more choices for the day and so I called in an order to the local Vietnamese restaurant and The Barren picked it up on the way home. He then told me about how horrible his day was and I listened and told him I was sorry he had a rough day, ideally things will be less stressful now that he was home. My arm was itching and aching from the day before and I think I hid that from him too.

I ended up falling asleep on the couch while he watched something on YouTube and then crawled into bed, asking him before falling back to sleep if he thought I was strong.

He said: you are a warrior, you have had to fight for so much.

This made me sadder than I thought it would. 

Infertility has taught me a lot about grief, and sadness appearing in new and unexpected places. It has taught me how to speak up in medical spaces and ask questions, but also fortify myself for the answers as they are often ones you don't want. It has marked me in ways seen and unseen.

The new infusion nurse told me that I had such a calm serene energy about me. I thanked her and realized that my outward self was on display and that my inner dialog of tears, duct tape and sadness was hidden from sight, thankfully.