Yesterday I met with a lady about possibly setting up a support group for people facing a life without children after fertility treatment. She’s lovely, and I was mostly able to talk very matter of factly about what we’ve both been through. Outwardly, I was doing what I seem to do well – putting on a brave face & faking it.
Inwardly, it was a whole other story. It was like when you cling to the top of a waterslide, trying to prevent gravity & the power of the water doing its things, clingy desperately, but all the while knowing you’re eventually going to have to let go. At the same time, silently screaming “Nooo, don’t let me in, I don’t want to part of your group, let me go back to the days I had hope (however slight), let me just be between cycles, waiting for next Day 1 to get started again.”
No reflection on the lovely lady at all, I’ll have to join her eventually, my heart is just digging itself in for now, still ever hopeful that it’ll wake up and find it’s all just been a bad dream.
I just want to hold on to hope again.