April 7, 2013 § 24 Comments
I hate to fly, but I love to travel.
When I was a kid we never really went anywhere except to my grandparents house. There was a trip to Disney World once. And one or two to the beach. But my parents were poor students (apple and tree comments commence), and they lived far enough from their own families that they chose to spend whatever meager vacation days they had on visiting their folks. But when I was 15, my dad became involved with a doctors without borders type of program and used his charm to convince the director to let me tag along on a trip to Peru. And since then, I have taken every opportunity I have had to get out of my world and to see someone else’s. My career is an example of this, I think. As is my love of stories. And documentaries and reality television. And my desire to travel.
About three weeks ago, a good friend of mine happened to mention in an email that she and her husband were thinking of taking a trip in May. Her husband and mine have been besties since before puberty, and she and I met as juniors in college when we were both just starting to date these two best friend boys. We were super college drunk the night we met and declared that we were going to be great friends and we were right.
The Artsy Engineer and I have only taken one international trip together and that was our honeymoon, which we decided to spend in a very non-honeymoonish way by hostel-hopping through Vietnam and Cambodia for a month. We arrived in Hanoi, Vietnam with zero plans and a plane ticket out of Saigon 4 weeks later. And it was, of course, an incredible adventure. As a brief aside, the weird thing is that I’m not really an adventurous type. I seek it out and then alternate between suffering through it and having the time of my life. I don’t know what that’s about. Anyway,
we’ve always wanted to travel with these two friends. They’re easy to be around, low maintenance. Comfortable. They also live hundreds of miles away from us and we only get to see them once or twice a year when we go visit the Artsy Engineer’s family on the east coast. So when the opportunity presented itself to take a trip with them, something weird happened. We didn’t really think about it. We usually think these things to death. But this time we didn’t sweat over our bank account or calendars. We just took it. Picked dates. Booked tickets. I didn’t even tell my bosses until after it was a done deal. We did it even though we should be saving the money for future treatments. And even though it may mean we try without intervention for a cycle.
I just feel like we’ve sacrificed a lot already. Only 4 years in to my program was I able to take more than a 4 day vacation. And now we continue to sacrifice a lot of experiences for this baby that hasn’t come. That is not to say this it won’t all be worth it. Because I truly, truly believe that it will. But, doggone it, when? And why me? Why can’t I just get knocked up free and easy and have that be that? And just because I believe the wait will be worth it, does that mean that I should just be quiet and quit complaining about it? Sit back? Let things pass me by because maybe this month will be it? I don’t think so (at least, I don’t think so today; it may be different tomorrow).
So, we’re going to Ecuador in 5 weeks.
But because I can’t get the yellow fever vaccine or take the anitmalarial meds due to this whole trying to have a baby thing, we’ll have to stay in the Andes (above the mosquito line) and out of the jungle, which everyone seems okay with. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not without reservations about the whole thing. But “reservations” ought to be my middle name. What if my timing gets fucked up and I can’t do an IUI cycle in the week leading up to the trip like I have planned? What if I’m pregnant and I get sick? What if I’m pregnant and I miscarry? What if we all die in a horrible car crash because I’ve heard the drivers are madmen? (Have you guys figured out what a ridiculous odd anxious duck I am? I was hoping to hide it. But, let’s be real, here. There is no hiding it.)
I don’t really know what we were thinking with this thing. I think it was something along the lines of this: We have put lots of things on hold for the last year and a half because we thought that we’d get pregnant any day now. And before that, we had to turn vacations with friends and family down because I couldn’t get off of work. And I know I chose that first part of it, but I wasn’t expecting that second part to happen at all, much less follow so closely behind the first. So, I’m burnt out. And I think I finally get it. I’m not waiting around for my life to start. This is it. And if I want to fill it with things I love, I better start doing it now. Because right now I have more life left than I will ever have again. (That was morbid. But, really.)
But, seriously, am I crazy? Am I crazy to spend a bunch of money (that will likely later be needed for future treatment) to fly (because I usually take a benzo when I fly but I can’t if I’m pregnant) to a country that has diseases (that I can’t be protected against) and an active volcano (that I can’t be protected against)? Or is that just my anxious voice talking so loudly I can’t hear over her?