Grief is funny. It sneaks up on you. It disguises itself as so many different emotions. Today it visited as anger.
Today I had a moment where I thought back on the last few months and how everything happened so fast and thought “wow did that really happen? Was I really pregnant?” It seemed like before I could fully process the pregnancy, they were gone. And that makes me angry. Angry my fears didn’t allow me to soak in the joy of being pregnant. Angry I didn’t relish every moment with my twins. Angry that my nausea got in the way. Angry that covid restrictions prevented my husband from hearing their heartbeats. Angry that we struggle with this when it comes so easy to others. Angry that I have to make a decision to undergo emotionally and physically exhausting treatments if I want another chance of giving my daughter a sibling. Angry that I have one embryo left that is making me feel guilty about moving on from treatment, moving on with my life. Angry when people say everything happens for a reason. When people claim God makes these calls.
And I’m really angry I have to go to morning monitoring tomorrow so they can check my HCG levels. For some reason these appointments really sting. I don’t mind the other blood draws that come along with IVF. I’ve accepted the poking and prodding as part of the process. But THESE post D&C blood draws to watch my HCG levels plummet just seem cruel and unnecessary. And I’m angry about it.