A “jibbly” is the singular form of “jibblies”. Say if you were only slightly weirded out by something, it would make you feel a little jibbly. But if it was really, really wierd? Then it would give you the jibblies. Maybe that’s not clear, and if it’s not then I guess I can’t help you.
Joey and I currently have the jibblies. We were discussing said jibblies on the way to church last night. At almost the same moment, we both confessed to having a permanent herd of butterflies in our stomachs, and they seem to be tying themselves in a knot over and over and over again. We’re all full of “what if” scenarios, which I will neither bore you with our gross you out with here.
My butterflies stem from the consent forms that Joey MADE ME READ yesterday morning. Between reading “in the event that egg retrieval fails” or “in the event of a laboratory mishap and your embryos are destroyed” (um, LABORATORY MISHAP? What are they doing in there with my embryos, using them to play pinball while drink Red Bull?) and drinking coffee, my stomach was destroyed. I told Joey I didn’t want to read that stuff, just sign it, but he said ”No, you need to understand the process”.
This was one of those moments in our marriage where I should have just explained why I didn’t want to read all that stuff…because in my fragile brain I would take all the “what ifs” and turn them into THIS IS WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO YOU, SO THERE.
And then I remembered that I am not 45 like many of their patients so my chances are dozens of times improved, I have a good supply of eggs (sorry, but that’s what the doctor told me) and the likelihood of the lab nerds pinball and Red Bull is really pretty minimal.
But that still doesn’t take away the butterflies.
Last night I told Joey I just wanted to have Saturday over with so I could see how Sunday went. Like, maybe the shot won’t make me sick. Maybe my ovaries won’t hurt really bad. Maybe I won’t feel like death. And then again maybe I will. It’s just the up in the air business of not knowing that is making us both completely stressed, and the kind of stressed where you don’t even realize you’re stressing out until you think, “Gosh, my stomach has felt really weird all day long. Huh. Wonder why.”
And then you wonder about it for awhile and realize you’re stressing yourself out.
In the IVF pamphlets they said that IVF is, hands down, THE most stressful way to deal with infertility. I scoffed when I read that and was all like, Y’ALL, I can DO stressful. I been doin’ stressful for the last really long time and I have it mastered.
Um, yeah, totally different level of stressful that I couldn’t imagine.
Anyway, we have the jibblies.
And two nights ago when I was trying to fall asleep, all of my I Can Give Myself A Shot, No Problem confidence went out the window. I feel like a yo-yo; some days I’ll feel totally awesome about IVF, other days I will be a jibbly wreck. Joey too.
JIBBLYJIBBLYJIBBLYBJIBBLY = JIBBLIES
It’s weird to think that in just over two weeks, this will all.be.over.
