I Hate Thinking Of Titles.

I have just been released from a most unpleasant Entire Hour in the dentist’s chair, and am virtually incommunicado-by-mouth as a result, sporting stroke-victim facial muscle control and a Fudd-level of lisp. Good times. The anaesthetic is wearing off rapidly, and I am feeling sufficiently sorry for myself that I have actually sat down in a comfy chair – while the sun is out, and I am surrounded by dozens upon dozens of things that I could usefully be getting on with. All of which are niggling me, damnit.

Firstly: the IUI that kind of wasn’t. Didn’t work, The End. I’ve had the period, but not the clinic invoice, just to aggravate matters. I am sinkingly despondent about failing at this new, earlier stage, feeling that the greasy pole of pregnancy (double-entendres not really intended) has now treacherously become coated with an extra, uber-slippy slathering of lard – and grown loftier into the bargain. I have fallen painfully from half-way up it 5 bone-wearying times already; this time, I couldn’t even get off the ground.

I know that, statistically, I was overdue for this. I have become pregnant from every previous cycle, even cancelled ones. I’ve even managed it on my own a couple of times – for a given value of ‘own’. A 100% assisted-conception success rate is not sustainable. Yet… at no point did I seriously expect this cycle not to work – for a given value of ‘work’, and I am experiencing difficulty talking myself out of a burning, indignant impression of having been thoroughly cheated. I also hadn’t thought it possible that my sense of reproductive failure could pervade my psyche any further, but au contraire, madame! I live and learn, evidently.

Telling myself that this is a flukish result is only useful reassurance if we extend the data to include a Next Time and try again; this is a horribly sharp pain in the wallet, and a costly way to disappoint yourself. I am, as I have previously mentioned, not currently in possession of very much of an income (although I am an expert in mighty wielding of a visa card) but until I know that a second child is irrevocably off the agenda, I feel miserably incapable of a re-focus in any direction labelled ‘career’ or ‘serious earning’. I recognise the need to work now that Harry is at school, but I want something with zero stress that I can walk away from at any time – hence the seasonal bookseller post. The only snag there is that Seasonal + Temporary ≠ living costs, let alone ongoing IUI costs. Which is a bugger. 

I also can’t rid myself of the sense of how pregnant I should be by now, which is something I managed to cognitively sidestep on miscarriages One to Four. Five is biting me hard in the bum, particularly as every drop-off and pick-up at school is essentially a running of the pushchair gauntlet – all Harry’s contemporaries have either an elder sibling or a toddling younger version of themselves. I’m not resentful, as such, merely… reminded. Every day, I am reminded of how fucking ridiculously easy it is for everyone  -for a given value of ‘everyone’ – else to have the children they want. There are no ‘should’s in this life, God knows, but I do feel most terribly robbed – and I can’t help but contrast their Haves with my Have Not. I do not forget to see the Have I managed to hang on to – who has spent a very happy weekend playing with Shannon’s kids – and if he is the only child we are going to have, then I will close the door on this, re-adjust, and be happy. But until I succeed, or fail utterly, then even this sublime Autumn weather, my favourite time of year, is a visual glory that triggers a sense of beautiful, restless poignancy, as opposed to actual contentment.

And to top it off (I’m not a barrel of laughs today, I appreciate)  my anaesthetic (all four syringefuls) has worn off, and holy-molary, I feel like I’ve been punched squarely by Tyson. My jaw is only tenuously attached to my face, according to my reviving nerve endings. *shudder* Thank God I didn’t let him take my wisdom tooth out while he was there: he wanted to. I have that to look forward to another time. And I feel, in this life, that I need all the bloody wisdom I can get.

13 Responses

  1. Sorry you had to have dental work – around here, even a cleaning inspires dread. 😦

    I’m sorry the latest round of treatment didn’t work. Been there – with the siblings and the babies and the why-didn’t-this-work-it-always-has-in-the-past-now-what’s-the-problem.

  2. What bloody awful days, Ann. So sorry. Have you pain-killers? Let’s not be too stoic, here.

    A big hug for my stalwart friend.

    • Without time to generate my own original words, but wanting to say something–it would be this, exactly.

  3. Ouch! Nothing like dental work to make you feel beaten up. And the being surrounded by women who seem to pop out babies as they wish adds insult to injury. Wishing it were different for you.

  4. Hugs to you! I hate when it hits you all at once. Hope things are looking better soon.

  5. Ugh. Suckage. And- not that this will help but do you know, there is not a week that passes that I don’t look down at myself and the increasing girth and think “It really should have been Ann instead of me.” You are so deserving of some happy luck. I’m sorry, honey. Hang in there.

  6. Loved the cake you made for Shannon.
    Is your jaw any better today already?
    I know what you mean with the reminders. I live across the street from a school, and sometimes I dare not even go out for fear of getting tangled in the strollers or cargo bikes (http://www.treehugger.com/files/2007/05/dutch_cargo_bik.php)

  7. Ah, the new minefields we didn’t know there were…

  8. Your poor face. Hugs. Gentle ones, so as not to bump the face.

    As for the failed IUI, well fuck. Vast world of unfair and wrong, in that it should HAVE to be assisted, and that it cost money, and that it’s undignified and involves people digging around your delicate privacy with a thing like a metal torpedo, and then it has the utter bloody effrontery not to work. And there are people out there getting pregnant for fun. For FUN. In car-parks, half-cut on Archers and lemonade. *Tears hair*. (There was a woman at work this morning patting her vast belly and complaining that her kids’d be spaced too close together, but oh, dear, what can she do, her husband just won’t leave her alone hee hee. I did NOT explode with envy and hit her with a chair. I deserve a cup-cake).

    (I can’t let go of a miscarriage until it’s past what would’ve been the due date. I totally think my uterus is haunted. *Stomps off to kick leaves*)

  9. I have yet to have a filling. I suspect that is a lucky thing from reading this missive. I dead the inevitable time it happens all the more, now.

    Also, am damn sorry about the IUI


  10. […] nearly a month. So long, in fact, that the nerve/muscle damage that turned out to be causing my punishing post-dentist jaw pain has aaaallllllmost disappeared. Dentist’s advice was informative, but could essentially be […]

  11. […] not so long since I last posted here immediately post dental-trauma. On that occasion, the trauma turned out to be nerve damage that took months to settle down. On […]

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: