EH and I went to our first support group session this week. It was a big step for me. I was on the verge of a full on meltdown most every day and EH has been pushing for us to see someone. So we searched on the web and found a place in NY that actually specializes in infertility counseling and took our butts to it at 8:30 in the morning.
We were crazy tired when we got to the city and stopped to get some coffee and some breakfast and talk about our fears. My biggest fear was that it wouldn't work. That I would have this help and still be lost in my sadness. EH feared that it was some kind of scientology off shoot and that they would try to convert us; but then I reminded him that scientologists don't believe in mental health care so there was no chance of that. That's my husband! Always with the comic relief ;-)
We arrived at the group only to find that we were the only ones there. I had mixed feelings about it because I really wanted to sit back and listen, maybe hide behind everyone else's pain before talking about my own. The atmosphere was so therapeutic--all cream and white and soothing--that I couldn't help but feel safe and warm and talkative. EH and I sat on the couch together and told our infertility story and shared what we had been through so far. I wanted to cry a few times but I held it together. I didn't want to dissolve into a mess in our first session. Our therapist was great and that was good because I really didn't wanna spend the time analyzing her technique. That would have been a barrier to getting the help I needed.
There were some revelations too. I admitted that I wanted to keep knitting the blanket I had started for Little P. I had been afraid to pick it up again because I didn't want to upset EH. EH admitted that he hated seeing me cry because it made him feel powerless. I admitted that I felt ambiguous about starting treatment again--on the one hand I felt like we had to keep going and on the other hand I wondered what the point was. EH admitted that he didn't realize how much he needed to talk about our losses.
All in all it felt soooo good to just spill our guts to someone who was there to listen. We decided that we're going to keep going until the end of the summer sessions and take it from there. I was surprised by how much better I felt and I even treated myself to a pedicure afterward while EH went to work. As I was in the chair, I could feel all the stress that I'd been holding in for the past month drain away. I felt limp like my bones had turned to liquid. It felt good and bad at the same time. When I got home I slept for about four hours and woke up somewhat refreshed.
Since then, I've just been taking one step at a time trying to keep up with my running schedule. I know that if I don't go running I'll be in the house all day feeling sad. I'm back on my Metformin regimen although it's making me a bit more nauseous than usual and I'm not losing as much weight on it as I did before. I try to remind myself that the weight loss is a side effect and not the purpose of the treatment but, like any woman, I get happy when the number on the scale decreases.When EH gets home we eat dinner, he works on assignments, we watch something from our netflix queue and stumble into bed.
I knit; weaving the yarn between my fingers, pulling it taut, letting it hang loose imagining the baby we will have someday, mourning the ones we lost and trying to knit myself back together.