Letting go

As children bring their broken toys
   with tears for us to mend,
I brought my broken dreams to God,
because He was my friend.
But then, instead of leaving Him,
in peace, to work alone;
I hung around and tried to help,
with ways that were my own.
At last, I snatched them back and cried,
"How can you be so slow?"
"My child," He said,
"What could I do?
You never did let go."

- Author: Lauretta P. Burns -

     I don’t know if writing all this down is helping me stay sane or just feeding my obsession. In any event, I feel somewhat better today. I think this is because I have transformed my sorrow and pain into anger. Feeling sad and depressed is a weak feeling for me, which I hate. So, to counter the grief, I get mad. I let little irritants dig in and balloon out of proportion. I wrap myself in the strength of my anger and lash out at anything remotely painful. While I do not believe this is a terribly healthy reaction, I find it more appeasing than the melancholy, therefore I latch onto the madness.
     I also attempt to do things outside of myself. Many times my own pain clouds my ability to see suffering in someone else, but I make it more of a point now to reach out to another hurting soul, even in a very small way. Too many times I just live inside my head, ping-ponging the most unkind thoughts about myself around and around my skull until I just want to find the off button to make it all stop. I get angry at God and accuse Him of putting me through this misery month after month. I confess I have little confidence in His ability to perform miracles, especially when it comes to me. I do my best to argue my point to God, telling Him that we have suffered enough and we are deserving of our own blessing NOW. I try to think positive, in an attempt to will my baby into existence. I tell God that I believe He will give us a baby this month. But, then as we creep closer to the day and the hour when I will discover the truth, I back-pedal and say “God will give us a baby” but it will be “some day” – some intangible day in the distant future that feels like it will never arrive.
I try and I try to come to terms with our condition. I tell myself that I might not be able to become a mother the way I want to; meaning I might need to become a mother through adoption. I grew up thinking I would like to adopt, regardless of being able to have a baby on my own. But, now that I am here face-to-face with this monumental decision, I am balking at actually doing it. And it is not a decision I can make on my own. Flaco does not want to adopt because he does not feel like he can love another couples baby. How can you argue with that? It is a very personal feeling that most likely cannot be changed. But, even if this were a decision I would make on my own, I feel like adoption is the last ditch effort. It would mean giving up my dream of ever being pregnant; feeling my baby move and kick for the first time, feeling my body grow to accommodate the life inside me, going through labor and delivery, breast feeding. All of these things would be given up and I am not ready to do that yet.
     So, while last night I was looking at just two options, today I realize there are more than just two options. There is also option number three, which would be taking the time right now to  get my body healthy (i.e. cardio, diet, lose weight), save money, and revisit the IVF/injection scene in another six months or more. My mother called me tonight after work. She is a nurse in an ob/gyn office and apparently, she has decided to plead my case to other nurses in her office. They have come to the conclusion that the Infertility Doctor is pushing us too quickly into IVF. My mother believes that the doctor should not move forward until they test to see if my tubes are open. She offered to have me come see one of the doctors where she works and she can code the insurance so it should be covered. For some reason, this made me want to just break down and lose it completely. Why can't we just have a baby made during our intimate act of love? I don't want to have to make this choice. . . . I must let go and let God. . . .