Angry All The Time
The question I continually ask myself, as we go through this IVF process, is how do you keep yourself from being angry all the time? I haven’t figured out the answer yet. Every little thing sets me off. In particular, seeing children on television, children at the grocery store, or, last week, seeing children at the park—all of these things are making my blood curdle lately. I find myself wanting to scream at women pushing carriages around and I really have to restrain myself when I see a man with a child. It’s all just so damn frustrating, and I don’t know how to deal with it.
Tonight, Stef suggested therapy of some sort, whether that be meeting with a group or getting individual counseling. But I shot down the idea. I’ve been to enough therapy for one lifetime, and all I’ve figured out by going is that, if I give myself a chance, I am intelligent enough to find ways to cope with my own problems. And I’ve tried finding solace in the stories of others. I’ve read the journals and blogs of countless women who have gone through this process or are going through it now. (I’d read the journals of men, if there were any.) None of it helps.
I feel all alone in this. I’m the one with the problem. And there seems to be nothing I can do about it. Instead, we have to go through this long, drawn-out process. I have to learn to give my wife injections once a day for over a month. She has to go back on the pill for a month, which will drive her body nuts, as it always has, and probably screw up the weight loss she’s worked so hard for. It’s too much to take sometimes.
And the truth is that this is all my fault. The only thing to blame here is my worthless, defective body. There’s nothing wrong with Stephanie. It’s all me.
This is what I’ve been going through today, as the lingering aches from Friday’s concert become less a reminder of a grand night and more a reminder of my aging, failing body. I wish there were just some switch I could flip inside of my soul that would make all of this stop. I wish that were the case. But it’s not.