Letting go-

I don't like who I've become in some ways. I am bitter all the time, I'm bitter about being bitter. I hate hiding in my own little world, wailing with grief all the time. But, I've also become a stronger person. I am more resilient in some ways. I am more assertive, I don't take anything at face value.

Infertility is always going to be a part of who I am, there is no doubt about that. Nothing can erase what I've went through- a baby will not make me forget the sleepless nights of agony, the failure after failure. There is no cure for this, there is nothing that can erase the past. I have to find a way to live with it, whether or not I ever arrive at my desired destination.

Tonight I began letting go of the idea of having a biological child. I began letting go of the idea of ever having a baby. I started boxing up all the baby things I collected with each pregnancy, each symbol of hope that I clung to in desperation. It just got hard knowing they were in there, accessible in case I wanted to touch them. Seeing them everyday, and knowing what I've lost.

I looked at my book shelves, and saw a story laid out before me. And I cried. Trying to conceive books, blending into infertility books, into pregnancy loss books, and giving way to adoption books. I thought about the pregnancy books, which I wouldn't even allow on my bookshelves. Instead they stay put, hidden, in the armoire in my bedroom. The constant elephant in the room. It broke my heart.

And something snapped.

I began tearing them from the shelves, and each book hefted with it a pent up memory. The first pregnancy book I had bought, so naively, believing that it would be easy. The second one, because I wanted multiple sources of information. Tearing, and tearing, pieces of my heart. I placed them in a pile, and moved on. Next, the infertility books... many so useless to me now. Each one bought, believing it would have the answers. Each one, cleaving to it a piece of hope. I left a few, because they weren't about treatments- they were about coping with this vile disease. Then I saw what remained, and knew I couldn't part with them- not yet.

Weeded down, I am left with books on coping, books on dealing with grief, coping with baby-loss, books on adopting, books on raising an adopted child, and the original books that are too heavy with memory to let go yet.

The box of baby stuff will find it's way to the attic, where I won't have to look at it anymore. Not unless I want to. The books are destined for the thrift store, into another's arms.

Each absence took with it a memory, which I will always keep, but I will no longer be reminded of on a daily basis. Each book a part of my existence now.

I'm letting go. April makes three years since we started this journey- three years and three miscarriages later, I'm ready for it to end. I need it to end.

I can't keep living on impossible dreams.

This isn't the end, it's simply the beginning of letting go.

We're still going to get the laproscopy, still get the SHG and ovarian drilling... but I refuse to have faith in them. They are just another step in the process of letting go- knowing I did everything I could.

Where am I going from here- I don't know yet. We are planning, we're going to save money for adoption, keep moving along. I am just tired of putting everything on hold for an impossible dream. I'm tried of feeling stagnant, feeling trapped, feeling desperate, feeling angry, feeling bitter. I'm just tired.

Three years is a long time to keep going through hell.
Especially when there's no end in sight.

(*shudder*)

So, remember my last post?

Okay, so she is apparently trying to get a hold of me. Why?
To invite me to a baby shower. Not just any baby shower, her and her friend's.
Yes, you read that right- a dual baby shower.

Just what any infertile wants to do!
Especially after 3 miscarriages!

Go to a stranger's baby shower, and her younger sister-in-law's too.
All in one day.

(*shudder*)

I'll pass.

***eta: Yes, she is only 8wks and already planning her shower. It must be nice to live in a place where nothing ever goes wrong :(

Guess who's pregnant-

I'll give you a hint, it's not me.

But A-s sister, who I can't stand, sure is.
You know, the recently married recently bought first home one?

Shoot. me. now.

I mean, I knew it was coming. I knew it.
But... I was hoping it would be delayed for a little while longer.

I'm going off to a corner to feel sorry for myself now.

Tenative plans-

I hate making plans, but I have to do it. Of course, when I make plans I generally make a plan A, B, C, D, E, F... you get the picture. It helps calm me down.

But these plans are more sturdy, more tangible. I am having my second operation on February 15th. That is the carpal tunnel release surgery for my left hand. I will be glad to have it done, but am also not looking forward to it. That surgery sucks, plain and simple. I am not fond of having a three inch incision on my palm, and having my hand use diminished for a month. I still can't seem to lift more than 5 pounds with my right hand, and I'm 4.5 weeks post-op. On the upside, the surgeon told me he doesn't think my nerve will have any permanent damage, and I should expect a full recovery- eventually. We'll see.

While my right hand is still weak, and the scar hurts like a bitch, not to mention the occasional sharp pains to my pinky and ring finger... it's still much better. I don't get the numb stabbing feeling constantly, I can sleep without a wrist brace, I can hold things without worrying about my hand losing grip without me being aware of it due to the nerve compression. It's an improvement.

After that last surgery, probably around the first week of March, I am going under for my laproscopy. While I'm out they're going to check everything in there out, check for endometriosis, perform ovarian drilling, and also do the SHG. Sounds fun, doesn't it? I don't really believe the ovarian drilling will help me, but at this point I figure it can't hurt. I am concerned about the possibility of endometriosis, and if they find any they will take care of that while they're in there too.

I think I am going to feel like the bionic woman after all this. Maybe I should change my username to that- The Bionic Woman.

Hmmm.

Those are my tentative plans. For now I am working on ending this cycle, I have started progesterone. I realized yesterday that I wasn't cycle day 20-something, I was actually about cycle day 40. Oops. And no, I did not ovulate as I said. So, I figure I had better lay this cycle to rest.

That's where I am right now. Just a quick plan update for you all.

to have loved and lost-

At this time last year, an embryo was created. It was unexpected, despite fertility treatments. It was wanted, loved, and held our hopes and dreams. It was supposed to be a welcome to the new year, a sign of things to come, a birthday wish come true.

But that embryo was not destined to survive.

I miss her.
And missing her brings memories of pain, of anguish, of despair.
And missing her reminds me that we are no closer to our desires.
She's not here, and we're still here. Alone.

What is it about the second one that was so much worse than all the rest-
Yes, I now believe it was the worse one.

I believe that the first one, as shattering as it was, is bearable now. Is it because of time, because of acceptance, is it because of knowing that, as awful as what everyone told me the first time, I now know just how much worse it can get. Three years, three miscarriages, and the horror of unstoppable contractions coupled with that beautiful and damning gestational sac. My first one was still awful, but from where I sit today... I wish I could go back to that, and have so very few things to mourn in comparison.

Does that make me awful, that a part of me wishes their non-existence, those embryos that should have been my children? I go back and forth on this- glad to have had the chance, and cursing the very chance I had tried so hard for. I ask myself- if I had known how this would end, would I have still tried? Could I have still laughed on my birthday last year, on the eve of her conception? If I knew then, what I know now, about how many weeks of agony it would be, and the pain it would bring me- can I still say I would even have been able to smile? If it hadn't happened, if the pregnancy had never existed, would that make this any easier?

I don't expect many people in this life to understand- it was an embryo. It wasn't chubby cheeked and wide eyed, with downy hair and soft skin- except in my mind, and in my heart. To almost everyone else, it was just a gestational sac, if even that. It was empty. Like my heart is now. Like my life is.

There are some women I see in the forums, and they say things like how they wish they could at least get pregnant, even if it ended in a miscarriage. Their logic is that by doing this, they would at least know that they can get pregnant.

I shudder at the very thought. For me, I still don't know if I can get pregnant. I've been pregnant three times, and each time took effort and it's own trials to get me there. I am infertile. I do not ovulate. Having been pregnant doesn't make me any less infertile.

And, because of those pregnancies I now know that if I do ever get pregnant again, it only means I can miscarry again. I can lose, I can suffer. I can go through physical pain, and emotional agony. I can lose every last ounce of dignity, every last bit of hope, and I can watch every dream I'd ever had die.

Yes, part of me wishes that none of that had never happened. Part of me would rather have been completely barren for the last three years. I would rather agonize over not ovulating, than lost loves.

And isn't that really the crux of it though? I love them. I love them so much, I put every fiber of my being into creating them. I did everything, everything, I could have done to keep them. If love was enough to keep them alive, there is no doubt in my heart that they'd still be here. I would have two babies, and one on the way. If I wish away their existence, I deny both my love and my pain.

So, in the whirl of day- I sigh and go on my way. I keep loving each of them silently, and mourning them with every breath. As much as I wish I could will away all this suffering, I can't- because I love them, because they existed, because I can't change the past, and I don't know if I would given the chance.

All I can do is keep missing them.

Coming soon...

Saturday iz mah birfday, actually.

But I probably won't post until after the fact.

I am getting older again, and birthdays are fairly bittersweet for me. 

On one hand, I've managed to live another year.
And my dog Pokey is still here (I got her eleven years ago, on my birthday.) 

But on the other hand, I still don't have a child.
And I certainly don't have one on the way.

I think this year is worse in many ways.
For instance, I am not even pursuing any means of having a child. I mean, we're not preventing. I'm on cycle day twenty something or other. And no, I have not ovulated. I'm just being a whiny bitch and putting off starting my progesterone to bring on a new cycle. (I'll do it sometime soon, I swear.) Anyway, so there's no hope of accidentally (ha ha ha) getting pregnant. No plans on pursuing any treatment anytime soon. And we're a long way off from being able to afford adoption. I have to get a full time job to make that happen, which won't be happening for awhile.

I still have my other carpal tunnel surgery to get over with... one down, one more to go. I don't know how I got to be so lucky as to develop severe carpal tunnel at twenty-one, in both hands no less- but that's the kind of person I am. Apparently. Putting the surgery off for four years probably wasn't smart. But sometimes you do what you have to.

Also, last year's birthday still haunts me. It was a happy birthday. I had friends over, we laughed our asses off, enjoyed a good movie, and lived it up. I didn't think I would ovulate, despite being on a medicated cycle. I was completely carefree, assuming the Clomid would fail like to make me ovulate, as it had so many times before.

I was wrong. And, as some of you remember, I got pregnant. It was part of my birthday wish come true- and while I was hesitant, I had let a small piece of me dare to hope. Part of me thought it might go the distance. It was progressing so beautifully, perfectly in fact.

A month later, I was crushed to find out that despite all that it wasn't meant to be. It was my most successful pregnancy. But it ended like all the rest- except it was more painful, more drawn out, more draining, more haunting. That was number two; we've since had number three, right before Thanksgiving.
 
So, part of me if very much in that place. Still torn every which was about what happened, not knowing what went wrong, remembering the horror of it all. The hope, the crushing devastation. Reliving it all, over and over.

Part of me is here, remembering how another year has passed already. And knowing we're still no closer. Time is still standing still- and yet it isn't.

In case you're wondering... I'm turning twenty-five*.
Happy freakin' birthday to me.

But, like I said. I am still here.
So, I am going to make the best of it.
The best I can.

*I know that this isn't old by many people's standards, but you have to understand- I got married at twenty-one. We've been trying to become parents since I was barely twenty-two. I don't ovulate, and barely respond to fertility treatments. I mean, barely. I've had three miscarriages, and all the loss testing gave me no answers. I can't even make it to a heartbeat. And it will be years before we can come up with the money for adoption. Time is not my friend. Yes, I got diagnosed earlier than some, but it has not helped me. Not at all. I take no comfort in time. Time does not guarantee me that I will become a mother. Hell, time itself isn't even guaranteed.

I got this awhile back, but didn't get around to posting about it. Michelle at To Baby and Beyond awarded me, and to her I give my thanks.

Apparently I am supposed to divulge seven tidbits of information about myself, that you are at present unaware of. Then I am to bestow this honor on to other bloggers... I am never good at that. So, we'll see if I follow through with that part later- shall we?

So, seven facts about me: we'll keep with a theme here

1. I detest mustard. I can't stand it's smell, taste, consistency, anything about it. Weird, I know. I am the same way about celery though- bleh!

2. I don't mix my foods, I get annoyed when they touch on my plate.

3. I won't eat fruit that's been frozen, canned, jarred, or cooked. So, I really like fruit; but I'll only eat it fresh.

4. I love anime. Shh, don't judge. I refuse to watch it with English dubbing though, preferring to stick to the Japanese language with English subtitles. I noticed that dubbing over it washes out the original Japanese-cultural humor. I don't like that; I get the humor in it with the original language because the correct inflections are kept, plus I know enough about Japanese culture to get the inside jokes. I'm really picky.

5. I also have a fondness for British comedy (*eta: older British comedy, pre-1990s). I like it more than American comedy. American comedy seems to have too much slapstick and senseless bloopers for me. But most British comedies I like, well they seem to have more wit to them and play more on the intellect. I could be over simplifying, but that's how I see it. On a side note, that's probably why I really enjoy independent films, as opposed to over-hyped-watered-down-hollywood-blockbusters; just, ick. Give me some meaning, please! I like my entertainment to have something more going on. Did I mention that I'm picky?

6. I'm picky. When I was on my college's literary journal's editorial staff I earned a very special nickname- Simon. This requires a story, bear with me... Here's why: my standards for the journal were much higher than anyone else. See, if I'm going to have my name in print on something, I'm not going to let just anything go through. This publication printed once a year, a printed and bound journal that was available for the public- needless to say, it would be going in my portfolio as well.

I was very vocal and unashamed about voicing my concerns over certain content. At one point there was this short story that half the staff wanted to admit based just on subject matter- the problem was that it was horribly written, and would need so much editorial work that we did not have the time to devote to just it and it's author. I was a senior in there, having already worked on the journal the year before. But, of course, no one was listening to me. I fought to get it rejected, to ask the writer to revise and resubmit the next year. Now, it wasn't completely hopeless, it just wasn't ready for that years issue.

Well, eventually a better piece came along- it was well written, with similar subject matter; so they finally conceded. But the damage had been done- I was Simon C.ow.ell from then on. Go me. I wasn't trying to be awful, but this was my future at stake as well. Now I may not ever require that journal, I may never go for an editorial position (There aren't many out here anyway, not the kind I'd want. I'd have to move.) but what if I did? For them it was just a course on their way to graduation, for me it was a possible stepping stone. I hope I don't come off as a calloused bitch... I know I kinda sound like one. But it is, what it is.

7. Did I mention that I'm picky?

So, if you've read all that and still like me... I'm glad.

If you don't... well, I'm used to it. I am Simon after all.

So, to pick some bloggers- or not to. I read many a fine blog, and hate picking names. So, perhaps I will keep with my habit of non-conforming with that trend. I don't normally pick names, after all... so, I won't now. (*smile-smile*)

I'm going to take some medicine for us sickies now, and probably pass out. The bronchitis is still kicking strong. And I can't even get the good drugs, because I am still healing post-surgery and am allergic to some of the normal medications. I feel special. Also, I have now officially passed it to my husband, Mr. Indestructable. He like never gets sick. I am a superhuman virus spreader, woohoo.

Cheers.