The feelings of grief

You know what, sometimes life comes at you from unexpected angles. Sometimes, even though you know it could be worse, things in life hurt.

I was going to dedicate a whole post to this, but I can’t handle the sadness, so instead I’ll just say that my first dog, the one that I lived with when I still lived with my sister and parents, died yesterday. She was currently living with my mother, step-father, and sister, but everyone who met this dog loved her. She was bought to help my sister get over the fact that I was going to college and leaving her at 10 years old. My father picked her out and wanted her the most, first. But over time, she was my sister’s dog. Anyway, I could go on and on, but then I’d be crying, and my sister and mother reading this might be upset, so I’m not going to continue. She was 11, she was a Westie, and she had liver disease. Her name was Eva.

Of course I can’t find a single good picture, but here she is with Sadie a few years back. Eva was my first dog, and it’s really just as hard as losing a human. We are all sad, but today is a better day than yesterday, hence why I’m able to even share this with you.

Through this I have come to recognize another quality in myself I’m not fond of, but can’t even begin to change. Before I go on, I do have to say that one of my good qualities is my ability to be incredibly honest with myself. I know my feelings. I might not share them out loud all the time, but I understand myself at all times. I’m just not always happy about it. Anyway, I have come to realize that I have grieving issues. I suppose I’ve known this all along, and I haven’t given it much thought, until now. I wasn’t always like this – I never had a problem crying when it was needed, or slamming a door now and then in all my teenage angst. But now, every single time something bad happens, I go into immediate recovery mode, before there’s been any time to grieve. “It’s okay” runs through my head, no matter what, and sometimes I even say it to people who don’t have issues grieving, and in fact, it’s not okay, and it could even offend someone. I avoid situations where I might see someone upset. I avoid situations where I might get upset myself. When I cry, it’s either in front of my husband (I have no issues showing grief with him, thankfully) or by myself. I will hold myself completely together until I can be alone and then cry.

I don’t know why I am like this – there is certainly nothing wrong with showing emotions, especially grief. No one should have to hide it. But I am afraid to let it out until I am good and ready, alone. I think this is based on two factors: 1) I build up a wall. Again, not to my husband, but to many other people. And especially in public. I’m just not going to lose it in front of other people, like at work. It’s just not going to happen! And people will try to get me to crack, even sincerely, by saying, “it’s okay to cry”, etc. I get that, I know that. In fact, the more you tell me that the less likely I will do it. I just…I’m not comfortable breaking down that barrier. 2) I’m afraid that if I let it out, if I cave, then I’m really going to let it out. It’s going to break through a dam that can’t be contained. And then I’ll be miserable, and a mess. It won’t just be one tear shed.

So for all these reasons, I can’t apparently grieve appropriately in front of others, except N. And while I don’t mind holding myself together; I actually like it that way, there’s something to be said for not avoiding grief. If it’s unavoidable, I need to start facing it instead of literally running away.

This is an appropriate segway for the rest of my post. All of this TTC drama, filled with anxiety, worry, frustration, and yes, even grief, has probably contributed to my wall-building. I need to protect myself, because this process has me filled with sadness in a long-term kind of way. It doesn’t mean I’m miserable every day, but then, most days, if I think about it, I am miserable with my body and my infertility and my hives and my autoimmune issues and my allergies. If I were to show that grief every time it was felt, well then, I’d be a crappy person to be around. As it is, little bits of grief spill out, a little at a time, leading me to fear this is a permanent personality change. But I just keep in the back of my mind that when I am pregnant, and when I have my child, I will quite literally be the happiest person on the planet. And that thought keeps me going.

Yesterday, CD 24, I called the RE. I told her there was still no positive OPK, and I would like another ultrasound, please, to check on my folly. “No,” I was told, “The Dr. just wants bloodwork from you. We don’t do another ultrasound until your IUI.” And there was no fighting that. The answer was no. Not only that, but coming in today for that bloodwork was just a hair too soon. Tomorrow, they want me. So, tomorrow before work I will be racing the 40 minutes south to get my blood taken, just for them to call me a few hours later and confirm what I already know: My follicle stopped growing. I will have to stair-step, again, for the second cycle in a row. Just days ago, I was preparing for my first IUI. Now, I know it’s not happening anytime soon. How can a follicle just stop growing? It was at 16 mm, I felt the pains and everything. Now, the pains are gone. My temp is still low, so I didn’t miss it. How could I, when I have been peeing on a stick since CD 12. 12! And it’s 25!! That’s my big lesson for the next cycle – don’t start POASing until like…CD 20. It’s costing me a lot of money.

It’s also cost me an infection. I won’t get into the details, but I’m sure holding my urine every day for 4-5 hours when I really have to go isn’t healthy, and might have been a contributing factor to the other thing in my way right now. If that wasn’t the cause, it’s my candida issue, and I don’t even know which doctor to approach about that. Even if I do have an IUI in the next few days, there won’t be any BDing to go with it, and I’m pretty bummed about that. Last but not least, I have a wedding to attend Saturday night. If, by any chance, I ovulate then and need my IUI on Sunday, I can’t go. Can’t. I won’t be around. How devastating that would be, to come all this way and not be able to have that IUI. I never expected to have one on CD 30. This Friday is the last day of work before a week’s vacation – another really bad day to take off. And tomorrow is now out, of course. So that leaves Saturday. As much as I want to ovulate and have this IUI, between the infection, lack of BDing, and Saturday being the only available day to even have an IUI, in my mind, this cycle is a bust. 25 days down the tubes, just like that. If I stair-step, I’ll be moved up to 150 mg of Clomid, I’m guessing. The highest it goes. When next?

It’s just one of those days, which really, has been one of those weeks, and months, and year. I’m not a hot mess, I’m fine. I will be fine. But life is just not…where I want it to be. There’s a big piece of the puzzle missing, and I don’t know when it will be found and put back into place. And even as I go through my days, I feel that void, clear as a bell.

Because I’m in one of the moods, and sometimes, the best thing to do in this kind of a mood is embrace it, I’m putting up a song here. The lyrics don’t have anything to do with grief; in fact, it’s a love song, and I love it. But I’ve always been more of a tune person than a lyric person, and the tune lends itself quite well to my mood. Give it a listen if you’re feeling up to it, but I wouldn’t recommend it if sadness is close at hand.

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8 thoughts on “The feelings of grief

  1. Jenn says:

    I;m so sorry to hear about your dog. I know that is never an easy thing to go through. I am also sorry to hear about your follicle. Unfortunately, I also know that infertility is never an easy thing to go through. xoxo

  2. A Sweet Life says:

    Im sorry about your pup. I have two dogs. Calla, a yellow lab, is mine. I got her when I lived by myself. She is attached at my hip. She is not great with little ones and I am terrified that one day I may have to give her up. I feel your pain and grief. They are family members, and again, I am sorry for your loss.

  3. Bear says:

    I couldn’t finish reading this post. I have a Westie, Sophie, who is both a dear companion and friend. There have been many times on this TTC journey that she has kept me from losing my sanity. Just a quiet cuddle when I’m depressed or a lick on my hand when I’m crying makes me feel both needed and loved, many times when I’m feeling my loneliest. Just the thought of losing her makes my heart ache and my eyes burn. I will definitely keep you and your family in my thoughts. It’s amazing how animals can worm their into our hearts and become such an intricate part of our lives.

  4. K.Smitty says:

    These moods suck. Sorry to hear about your pup…and your follicle. Losing dogs is definitely hard, and so is not knowing whats up with your body! I hope you do find a healthy way to grieve…soon. And I hope things start to look up for you!

  5. Emily @ablanket2keep says:

    So sorry to hear about Ava. Losing a pet is losing a family memeber.
    I hope you don’t miss the IUI. Sorry you have to stairstep again.
    I know you said you will be fine, but let it out. Let yourself grieve. I am here to read any venting. Hugz!

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