First of all, I feel much better today than yesterday. My foray into the Dark Side was indeed just for a day. I can’t claim to have left it far behind me – there’s still shadows flitting about. But I very much appreciate the supportive response to my last post, and the several conversations I had with folks yesterday have helped to clarify the bigger picture. Also, I’ve concluded that having this bloggy outlet for this sort of rampant craziness is super good for me, because just putting my emotions into words, sharing them with – well, not the world, but, you know, my limited audience – and then being able to go back and read it again… each part of that was really helpful, too.
The thing with the Clomid, the impetus for the existential crisis now dying down, is that it’s just so tangible. I was looking at it as a sharp break with how we’d been going about things so far. I was convinced that up until now it had been just about knowing and then suddenly we’re interfering instead. But I realized that’s a load of crap, because it’s not actually any great leap at all. I’ve been taking these incremental steps in the same direction for months already – and not just adding certain foods to my diet, or angling my hips a certain way after sex. I’ve been introducing unnatural, foreign substances into the mix without giving them a second thought: how is trying to trigger ovulation with Clomid any different, fundamentally, from trying to regulate my progesterone with B6 – or for that matter using Pre~Seed for sperm-friendly lubricating, or Robitussin to boost my mucus? Except that the Clomid might actually help. So this stupid line is totally imaginary, or, if it was real then I crossed it long ago without even noticing, that’s how arbitrary it was. I’m still worried a little about a slippery slope of erasing and redrawing this line, but for now, the principle on which my objection is based doesn’t really hold up to examination.
The Clomid just shook me, with its scary medical dimension, and felt (still somewhat feels) like an ugly metaphor for entering the grim swamp of ‘treatment options.’ Like it stood for a defining moment at which I gave up on normal. Like up until now, I was just a girl who hadn’t managed to get pregnant yet, but once I took Clomid, then that’s when I acknowledged something could be really wrong, and it could be a long, dark, bitter path ahead, lined with acronyms and continued frustration. Clomid is the first vocabulary word you learn in the language of infertility. It was (is) foreboding, a bad omen. Maybe it doesn’t need to be. Maybe it will be unobtrusive, one or two cycles, and poof – magic! A nice normal pregnancy, and everything will be fine. But maybe not.
Either way, the duality is an illusion perpetuated by myself alone (and arguably all of the human psyche – the strangest class I took as an undergrad was all about dualism, but I digress). I reread my statement about mind against biology and I don’t even know what I thought I meant by that when I wrote it, because I can’t actually figure out which side was supposed to represent what. Reconciling the parts of myself… It’s sort of about letting go and growing up, I guess. It was bound to happen somewhere along the way to parenthood. It might be good if I get that paradigm shift out of my system now.
So yeah, I’m taking the Clomid, at least this month. (Probably not next month, but that is back to the military and planning issues, and I should find out more about that in a couple of weeks.) And I certainly haven’t figured it all out, but I feel like I’m moving in a positive emotional direction where I can accept what is and potentially even the next move, too. If we stopped, took a break, I know I would not be able to not obsess about the alternative. As far as letting it happen, well, it sure sounds good… but if I’m not ovulating at all then there’s no way I’m going to get pregnant, and so at some point I would wind up with this big heavy saddle of guilt about time that I wasted. There is no real decision here.