Today an unwelcome visitor arrived. The visitor announced its impending arrival two days earlier with some painful reminders but soon fell silent, lulling me into a false sense of optimism. But sure enough the unwanted visitor arrived punctually, it is after all a creature of habit.
Despite my attempts to remain sane during this TTC roller coaster, the first day the unwelcome guest arrives is always terrible. So I allow myself one day. One day to cry, to wallow, to mourn. Then I try to pick myself up and get on with the rest of the month.
The worst thing about the arrival of the unwanted visitor is the way it announces the bad news. When that first dreaded realization that you're not pregnant washes over you, your heart sinks to your feet and you ache. But as if that wasn't painful enough, every cramp tirelessly reminds you that all your hope for this month has been in vain. Your emotional pain is intensified by the physical pain and at times it's hard to distinguish the two. During the unwelcome guest's visit I am permanently attached to a hot-water bottle. I only wish there was a hot-water bottle for my heart too, to numb the ache.
Today was the first day and I was determined not to let it hit me too bad. I wanted to do this for my husband, I don't like him seeing me so upset because I don't want him to feel guilty or responsible. He isn't and he shouldn't. So I decided I would go to yoga this morning and make a healthy and calm start to the day, thinking it would set me up on a serene zen-like high.
I turned up late to class and quickly took my place and began following the sun salutes. Things were going great, during the asanas both my physical and emotional pain had disappeared entirely as I felt my body lengthen and become lighter. This felt good. I was glad I'd dragged my aching belly out of bed for the early morning session.
My attention was then drawn to the lady sitting next to me, I smiled and then I saw. I saw her beautiful pregnant belly. On any other day I would have been fine. On any other day I would have said 'Congratulations'. I would have asked 'How far along are you?' But today it floored me. Of any day, of any place in the whole class, there she was and there I was. As we lay on our backs in meditation, being mindful of our breathing, all I could think about was the baby growing inside her belly and what felt like a massacre inside mine. I felt like we were polar opposites. It was so intense lying next to her, breathing, as I began to ache physically and emotionally all over again. Before I knew it tears were streaming down the side of my face and I could feel the wetness running into my hair.
I couldn't lie on my back anymore, I couldn't be that open. I turned away from her and curled into the fetal position. I needed to protect myself from the situation, it felt like a cruel twist of fate. I let myself cry quietly to get it out. I wiped my face, sat up and continued some meditation. I repeated 'it's going to be okay' over and over to myself. I felt a connection with God and said the Fatiha - it calmed me and grounded my emotions.
Afterwards we had a moment for sharing our thoughts and feelings with the class. I couldn't, it was too intense, too soon to be open about it. But the moment of being overwhelmed had passed. I even smiled as the lady spoke about how she was feeling her baby move about so much during the meditation. It was hard to listen to, but I did smile and I was genuinely happy for her.
So today didn't exactly go as planned. But then what does? I tried to be in a better, healthier frame of mind this first day of my unwelcome visitor's arrival but that was not to be. So I had my one day of mourning. And yes Mr. T was fantastic. He held me and he understood as he encouraged me to let it all out.
Tomorrow I will pick myself up again and get on with it all. My unwelcome visitor will be tolerated and maybe even appreciated, as my body prepares for the possibility of new life next month. I will remember that the cycle of hope begins soon.
And when I go to yoga again I will say 'Congratulations.' And I will ask her how far along she is. And I will wish her all the best.
