CD 8

Last night was my first injection of Bravelle.  It only took me a minute, but I worked up the courage and did just fine.  No problems upon going to bed.  Took my usual prenatal/met/asprin/excedrine pm/caffiene free diet Mt. Dew combo.  But then…

Night sweats.  Aches.  Headache.  Nausea.  WonderPuppy stepped on my injection site (ouch!).  This morning, I woke up feeling like total crap.  The only way I could face the day was to watch old Bugs Bunny cartoons in bed for half an hour before getting up and eating a bowl of trix (aka Instant Heartburn) while drinking my coffee. 

I’m supposed to go to a concert in BigCity tonight, 3 hours away.  Mr. JellyBeana is driving, my friend Jane is coming too.  We’re meeting Mr. JBs brother and a whole bunch of other people.  I’m so tired….and crabby…and icky feeling….I don’t wanna go.  And I *heart* concerts.  Mary Perfect is going to be there, pregnant and all.  She’s offered that we can go sleep in the van while everyone else is at the show.  I’m not sure what to do about tonight’s Bravelle.  I guess I could do it in the car, but I might be better off just waiting until I get home. 

I had lunch with a coworker/friend yesterday.  She’s retired from the army and is now an archivist here.  She’s an exceedingly private person.  I think I am the only one at work she interacts with socially.  She and her partner are currently rennovating a b.arn in a small town near here and I am the only one at work who knows about it.  She was talking about how she feels really strange about sharing that aspect of her life and how she has really strict borders between work and home.

I told her about my current situation.  There are a few people at work who know about my difficulty conceiving.  Three I would consider very close friends (all of whom knew a cycle was coming up), a few more I would consider coworkers and nothing more.  Until telling this woman yesterday, I haven’t told any of them that I am actually in a cycle.  My boss knows I have doctors appointments and, by the nature of them, I can’t always predict when they’ll be.  She’s a clever woman and has likely figured it out, but is kind enough not to press the issue.

So why my reluctance to tell people in my real life about my struggle?  When my lunch companion asked me, I replied “I don’t want to put any of them in the position of asking me about it on the wrong day.”  Like today.  But I feel like that’s not the whole answer.

And is that a good thing?  I’m not embarassed about my “condition.”  I don’t feel shame like many people do.  I (very fortunately) work in an environment where families come into being in a lot of different ways and pregnancy is almost the anomaly.  I don’t want to be the woman who bores everyone with her medical woes.  I don’t want to be the one who gives monthly reports on my fertility at staff meetings (we had one of those…) I won’t tell everyone, but I worry about my reluctance to confide in those who I consider true friends.

 Don’t get me wrong.  I have a few people I do tell (almost) everything to: Mary Perfect, SoccerMan (more about him later), Mr. JellyBeana, SuperNeice, and, of course, to my dismay and regret, Brother and SILlyBeana.  And my Muppets (thanks!).  You all get the completely unfiltered version.  Last time no one got the whole story.  I’m in a better place now and realize that sharing is an absolute necessity for me. 

So why am I so reluctant to share with the people I see every day?