In some asian countries, legend has it they use monkey traps. There are no claws or teeth or hinged mechanisms, just a simple basket tied to a tree with a narrow opening. Inside the basket is a banana. The monkey smells the banana, wants the banana, and sticks its little hand in through the narrow opening to get it. But the monkey cannot resolve the dilemma. To get its hand out, it must release the banana, and it just won’t let go of that piece of fruity goodness. It can’t have freedom and a banana. It keeps trying to get its hand out holding on tight the banana. It won’t fit. So the monkey gets stuck there until the hunter comes, hours later, trapped only by its desire. That’s how you trap a monkey.
IVF is a little like a monkey trap. And the bait is your hope for a child. It is really hard to let go of, so you get stuck. Stuck in an unnatural situation, your life dictated by vagaries of science and patient care protocols. Today, I’d like to get out of the trap of this particular cycle. I want the test done. I want to know its over. I know it hasn’t worked. I know we’re going to have to go again, if we choose. I want to put it all behind me. But I can’t let go of that bright yellow hope.
So I’m stuck. Cramping (oooh, the cramping). And waiting. And waiting. Figuratively tied to a tree and just waiting for the big fat no again. I want this over with, this cycle. I’m tired. And the little bit of bright yellow hope at present is so real and so near I can taste it. I know I and we are tough enough to go again. I know I’ll cope and we’ll cope. But the last taste of hope before you get caught with bad news, it’s just cruel.