maybe

Feeling zen after a day that included therapy, acupuncture, and group meditation. Yes, I am a caricature of a Northern Californian.  I’ve been staying attuned to the yo-yo nature of the infamous two-week-wait (“I probably am!” “I’m probably not…”) and all the accompanying emotions, which thankfully have not been too intense. Mostly, I’m calm and going about my biz. However, I’ve experienced every phantom symptom under the sun (I won’t bore you with the extremely long list) and have been amazed at just how hyper-vigilant I can be about the minute to minute sensations of my uterus. Tracking my temps (staying high would be a good sign), resisting a home pregnancy test, and patiently waiting to see who shows up: Aunt Flo or a bun in the oven. Consider the vast difference between these two possibilities and staying prepared for both. 8dpo (days past ovulation). I will probably write  a novel before these 2 weeks are up.

I have a long-standing appointment to get set up with an RE (reproductive endocrinologist, aka fertility doctor, aka the doc who could do my future IUI’s) at UCSF tomorrow morning, so in the event that AF does arrive this weekend, I will have Round 2 in the works. I like how that turned out.

Meanwhile, how does one live with big uncertainty? I keep thinking about a poem I wrote in college, and wanted to share it here. It’s called “maybe”.

on the wall there

gold and starlike

MAYBE

it said

like a dogtreat,

a dangling affirmative,

a not definitely no—

and i can feel the warmth

of a yes,

the neat crunch

of the bullseye.

i used my fingernail

instead of a coin.

my metallic silver fingers

close around the neck

of a gun

and i’m chasing

a moving target,

peeking out its bright face

from behind trees—

i didn’t read the rules,

i couldn’t, they were

miniscule, needed a

telescope,

radar.

i throw out another line

from my stationary nightboat,

gaze up at that star.