It’s mid-February and I have been busy resisting the urge to play the This Time Last Year Game.
If I gave in and drew out my worn and dog geared deck of cards, I would remember that I was newly pregnant after our first IVF. I would remember that in just a few short days, I would start spotting and so would begin the almost month-long odyssey from no hope to hope to no hope.
I would note that the Oscars are on this Sunday and that Mr. X and I watched the Oscars last year at his relative’s house, and I couldn’t concentrate because all I could think about was how I had started spotting that afternoon, but I couldn’t share anything with anyone except him. I would dread reliving the agonizing day until I could get into Dr. Uterus’s office to find out what was going on. I would remember how awful it was to go through that without Mr. X. In short, I would have myself a nice case of post-traumatic stress disorder, infertility-style.
So, rather than play that deck, I choose to open a fresh deck of cards. On top, is the card of Can-I-tell-you-how-wonderful-it-is-to-not-be-pregnant-right-now? There is such power and relief in knowing that at least this February will be different. This February unlike the last two will not feature me getting knocked up and being worried about being knocked up. This February, all I have to do is just be.
The next cards in the deck, of course, belong to Dr. Salsa. But, knowing that the dealer has changed from Dr. Uterus to Dr. Salsa is further helping me avoid playing that old deck. I think the mind f*ck of trying to get pregnant/being pregnant for the third February in a row and seeing Dr. Uterus at the same time would be too much for my over developed sense of deja vu to handle. I would feel like I was in the Infertility Groundhog’s Day movie, except the outcome never would change.
I don’t know if our outcome this time will be any different. But at least I’m playing a gleaming, new and shiny deck of cards that haven’t been tainted or tampered with.