Who Will Decide? Faith or Hope?

Since the transfer last Wednesday I have overheard Jerry say to close friends and family (in jest), “I just hope it’s not triplets,” in the relating of our IVF process. Every time I heard him say this, I would see red. So last night after Max passed out from exhaustion from having Christmas at three different houses, we talked.

I myself am dealing with the guilt of not thinking positively and reading every sign, and lack-thereof, as one more and final, failed cycle. So I tried to explain how I interpret his bemoaning of triplets as the worst possible outcome as an arrow into my shield of Faith and Hope. The worst case scenario for us is that this IVF will have failed, and we will be done.

I further explained how if that was the case, then not only will I realize the harsh reality that we will be a family of three, and Hope will have her ass kicked to the curb; but it may also mean I will probably lose the last of the Faith I had been trying so desperately to hang onto. And it’s not necessarily me that I’m trying to hold onto it for, but for Max. Jerry and I were both raised Catholics and it was an important part of our childhoods. As adults we were left with the decision on whether or not we would pursue and continue that tradition. It wasn’t until Max came along that we thought he should at least partake in it so he can as an adult have the same options we had. I hope that makes some sense, I’m not really with it today (hopped up on cold medicine).

The point I wanted to make with Jerry was that he needed to realize that we would be incredibly blessed to have triplets, even though the chances of that happening are incredibly rare. That would mean that Someone thought we were strong enough to handle that. To find out that even with all the medical assistance and a near perfect transfer, we would come up empty handed would tell me that we just aren’t worthy or capable of raising more children.

This morning after Max woke us at 7:00, I told Jerry I needed another hour of sleep. I dozed off again and I awoke about 50 minutes later in a panic: I had dreamt that my period had started, and I was never so glad to have pulled from a deep sleep. All these things are taking a toll on me mentally, physically and spiritually. It’s the latter that I will have the hardest time recovering from, if ever.

Remember when I said in an earlier post that I was going to need a lot of hand-holding? Well, I need that more than ever right now.