Friday, June 11, 2004


I had a crazy nightmare last night. I was at my college reunion (which in waking life starts next week) filling out these ridiculous forms at the registration table. The one question I actually remember (now that I'm fully awake) is: Which spot on campus is most likely to make you cry? And I dutifully answered the name of the dorm I lived in my freshman year. The form went on for 3 pages, and supposedly you had to fill out the entire thing (in pencil) in order to be eligible for some sort of prize. And there were other folks (including some people who didn't even go to my college) at my table, writing away, but I couldn't think of a single answer for the rest of the questions.

And then it happened. As I was frantically trying to come up with responses to these ridiculous questions, the woman sitting across from me (who in real life will be at the reunion sharing a room with me, and who happened to be my sophmore year roommate)asked me if my nipples were still sore. In front of everybody! And when I tried to shush her, it only egged her on. She asked about my dear husband's sperm count, whether we were considering donor sperm, whether we had considered adoption, where we were going for treatment, how I was dealing with all of it, how he was dealing with all of it. But not in a nice, concerned way. Almost as though those were the responses that HER questionnaire required and she was just getting the facts straight.

I was angry. Especially when I realized that I had never even told her about the problem in the first place. And she argued that I had e-mailed her (which I didn't- neither in real life or in the dream). And then I realized that it was the blog. She had read my blog and figured out my identity and was now calling me out in front of all of my former classmates, most of whom I haven't seen since graduation day.

I think I slapped her. I think I huffily explained that I didn't want to think about infertility stuff while I was at the reunion. I think I stopped filling out my stupid questionnaire (forfeiting the FABULOUS prizes) and walked off.

I definitely woke up (albeit 2 hours later and after yet another strange and distrurbing dream). And when I woke up I noticed that my boobies (ha! I never really call them that) were actually sore. And then I realized that I was having slight cramping in the place I believe my uterus to be. And in one still half-asleep moment, I convinced myself that the azoospermia diagnosis was a total fluke and that I actually could be pregnant. This month. Right now.

And in that half-asleep haze, I actually had the gall to worry about how I would explain it to everyone. My panic, my obsession, my last few posts in this blog. "Whoops, it was all a mistake, please don't hate me. I've been wrong before and I'll be wrong again." I was actually fearful that I might lose some credibility. That the three people who actually read this blog (my husband and myself included) might hate me, think me a drama queen, someone who jumps to conclusions, prepares for the worst.

I assure you, dear readers, that should a miracle happen resulting in a pregnancy this month, my fear and panic were all very real. I'm too pessimistic a person to really hold out any hope, but hey, the boobies are sore. Probably just a funny little practical joke being played on me by the powers-that-be. It's happened before.

Just don't ask me about it at reunion.


Blogger Monique said...

What an interesting dream!

I used to have weird dreams of being pregnant and then I banished Hope to a life in solitary confinement. Even now as I sit on CD 50+, the last thing on my mind is whether I am or am not pregnant.

I was told a while back that dreams never mean what you see. Shortly there after, my grandma told me if I was pregnant I would dream of fish....

Uh huh...

3:14 PM  
Blogger Michelle said...

Oh I know all about crazy dream/nightmares...since I've been unemployed and sleeping till whenever I want, I've been amazed at how vividly I can recall my dreams and at how they affect me so much the following day.

8:09 AM  
Blogger Indigo Wolf said...

I hate when dreams are a mixture of real life and fake. Especially when you wake up and can't tell which is which. If anyone mentions your sore boobs at the reunion, just look at them and act as if they're crazy.

10:56 AM  

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