Exactly a year ago today, I was in the hospital. That was our first embryo transfer and we were excited and nervous. The hospital had been quite unresponsive about our options – how many embryos, what quality etc. so we knew we had a last minute decision coming. This time I sit at home and wait, I already know I have 6 embryos and that gives me 2 or max 3 chances to get a baby. Still, 3 times better than none!
I can still see him making faces at me through the door that separated us! Though I know that this time it’ll just be me. I’m already tired of doing things alone, and it’s not yet been a year! Just yesterday I was sitting and fuming about people who have a partner. They can do things together that I have no chance of doing. And I’m not even talking about sex. Just simple things like going for a movie, or heading out for dinner just because they felt like it, or taking out money from each others wallets without so much as ‘may I’. Things that only couples do, things that are intimate, that are just theirs. And no matter how my friends and relatives may rally to help, these moments cannot be compensated for. And that made me furious – or just jealous I guess.
With all this I am also dreading the date that’s etched on my arm now – or rather my brain. It’s just 6 more days to 11th August, and I already feel like running away. I cannot face that day. I wish there was a place where dates and days did not matter. I am dreading the phone calls and visitors and messages. I don’t want anyone to sympathize. I don’t want anyone telling me to be strong or brave. I just want to lock myself up and drink myself senseless, cry myself to sleep and only wake up when the day is gone. But social convention probably won’t let me do that. I will have to open the door to visitors, I will have to sit through sad faces looking at me, I will have to make small talk; all this even as every cell in my body is asking me to flee.
I could use a time turner about now, or at least access to the veil in Harry Potter – any way to just see him again. I wish we had those portraits that moved, or the resurrection stone. Perhaps J.K. Rowling knew how strong is the urge to meet those that we have lost. It’s true we appreciate people more when we have lost them, and that’s perhaps the true tragedy of life. If we could only learn to accept mortality and really give the time and effort relationships need, we may be happier. At least content that we gave it all we had.
For me now, there are only regrets – things left unsaid, undone, unappreciated… and there is no going back in time…