When I saw Jonathan I was beaming. I couldn’t tell him everything fast enough. We walked in the door and he had cleaned, vacuumed and organized the entire house.
He did miss me. I truly do love this man.
I went into my office and sitting on my desk was the notice that I had to have an online defensive driving course taken by December 11th. I knew this before I left for Texas, but since I’m not making any lists, I forgot. Not that I would have remembered with a list.
Reality bites. It was 3:00pm on December 10th.
How was I going to take six hours and forty minutes worth of online instruction before they will even let me take the test?
I rolled out my mat in the familiar room at Chaz’s class. I had done two hours of defensive driving instruction online before I left the house and showed Jonathan how to continue the course as me. I was not sure if he would have the desire to do it; and it’s not his responsibility. Regardless, I had to get to yoga.
It was nice to be back in a familiar vinyasa flow class.
We opened in child’s pose; my mind began wandering back to that day I got the ticket.
So even when in the midst of the most consuming temper tantrum, try to step back from your all-encompassing emotions and recognize you have a problem. Either fix the problem or don’t drive.
As I read this section of the defensive driving course, I thought, that was some advice I could have used that day. It had been two days since my second failed ivf. I knew when they put the embryo back in that it was a complete crap shoot — most likely would not succeed. It was one lonely embryo of poor quality.
As the flow began to heat up, all of the tensions of the plane ride, the defensive driving course, the bills, the work — started to release. But I kept thinking about the day I got the ticket. I had absolutely no business being on the road.
I most definitely had not stepped back from my all-encompassing emotions.
Ma’am, you were speeding, you were following too close and performing reckless lane changes, the officer said sternly. Very sternly.
The officer was right. I was just sitting in the car sobbing; shaking so hard I could barely get out my license and registration. The best thing in that exact moment would have probably been to lock me up somewhere. I was not stable.
What is going on with you?, he asked even more sternly.
I just lost a member of my family, I blurted out. This was, of course, insane. A poor quality embryo that had yet to implant was not a member of my family — but there is always the expectation that it will be. You carry around this picture of the embryo they give you hoping you’ll be able to show it to your child someday when they are grown. How many kids know what they looked like as a ball of cells?
And then I think, Terry, please come back from the looney planet you are living on. You swore you would never become one of those women. You are now one of those women — the women on the fertility message boards you think have lost their minds. Earth to Terry.
I’m sure lots of women go into this not wanting to be one of those women.
I took that failed cycle extremely hard. I was mourning the expectation I had told myself not to have — there is always expectation, no matter what you tell yourself. I’m not sure why all of this this emotion consumed me on the 101 Freeway that afternoon.
I was hoping the officer would not ask who I lost; I am a terrible liar. I would sound completely nuts telling the truth. Luckily, he didn’t ask.
As he walked away with my license and registration I just sat in the car and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed until I could no longer cry. Then I sat there in a comatose trance waiting for my punishment.
I thought there was a strong chance I was going to jail. I should have gone to jail. I could have killed someone.
The officer had mercy. I’m not sure why. Perhaps he could tell these were not crocodile tears. This was actually a woman having a nervous breakdown. He cited me for the reckless lane changes. Not the speeding. Not the following too close.
I did not get back on the freeway that day. I drove home slowly on the side streets, stunned at my behavior. Grateful to the officer.
As I went down for yet another chaturanga I could feel all of the strength I had gained doing yoga across Texas. It felt good, despite the brief bout of insanity that day playing out in my mind.
The great part was, the unstable woman on the freeway was gone. I was not sad. I had no regrets. I was no longer mourning anything.
Chaz played Gangnam Style for our dance song. She is not a fan of the song, but added it to the playlist on a dare. Most of the class loved it. Not my thing, but I danced anyway. I was glad to be home, ready to live forward.
I drove home and picked up Italian for dinner. When I walked in the door, Jonathan had stayed home from the gym and taken my lessons to kill time on the clock. By the time I got home, I only had 2 1/2 hours of instruction left before I could take the test. What a guy. Did I say how much I truly do love this man?
When I finally took the test, I got 47 out of 50. Mission accomplished. The emotional breakdown on the freeway chapter was officially closed.
We snuggled on the couch, caught up on our shows — Boomer was curled up next to me purring. And yes, I was really, really, really happy to see them.