Sunday, February 28, 2010
It started spinning out of control, it must have been moving very quickly. Yet, time seemed to still within the car. I inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, panicked. My heart beat furiously in my chest. The car kept spinning, and I did nothing to stop it because I was frozen with disbelief- completely powerless to stop the inevitable.
That's what the past few years have been like. I lost control of where I wanted to go, my destination. I have been sitting powerless, watching the spin. Wondering if it was going to end. Would I survive it.
During the spin, all those years ago, I finally snapped to. It was midway through the second spin, and I started tapping my brakes. I managed to slow the spin, and eventually stopped. Thankfully it was so late, and the roads so bad, that no one else was out. Thankfully I was on a 4 lane state route, and I didn't hit anyone. I managed to stop before going into any buildings, or yards. I was incredibly lucky.
I feel like I'm at that stage in regards to my infertility. I've finally started tapping my breaks, I am stopping the spin.
My surgery is tomorrow. I am extremely nervous.
It is now a Laproscopy, Ovarian Drilling, and Hysteroscopy (rather than the SHG). So, if she finds anything wrong with the uterus, the ovaries, she can try to take care of it while she's in there (like fibroids, polyps, endometriosis). She will take lots of pictures- and she said she will give me copies of them. I am actually excited about that, and I might share them online. Not sure- that might be TMI huh? A little more of me than you would want to see? Hehehe, perhaps I won't post them.
But I am extremely nervous. I was allowed to eat a light dinner at 5pm, and here soon I have to take some laxatives for a bowl cleanse... ick... as prep for my surgery. I am to report to the hospital in the morning, my surgery is scheduled for 1pm. No idea how long it will end up taking, and no idea how long to expect in recovery. But I will try to get back on here when I am feeling better so I can post my experience and what they found out.
Until then... I am super super anxious. Nervous. Excited to be done with this. Worried about something going wrong. And did I mention nervous?
(*sigh*) Last surgery of the year (*fingers crossed*) Wish me luck.
Friday, February 26, 2010
I have some art being featured again on Still Life 365, if you're interested in checking it out.
If you want to learn more about the project, click here.
More info, ramblings, and anxiety about my upcoming surgery coming to you soon... maybe later today.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Today I am sharing a piece of artwork that is not my own. It was created by a friend, who shall remain nameless. She is an art major at the same university I graduated from, and I believe she truly has a gift.
The piece was completed after my infertility diagnosis and my first miscarriage, and she told me recently that she made this with my situation in her thoughts. I only recently found out that this statue ever even existed. It is a plaster cast statue.
Yes, she used molds of baby doll faces. The base is supposed to be a boulder. The concept here, was how babies can't grow out of rocks, or how life can't be sustained where it is not meant to, or how the rock can't force it to happen, no matter how much it wants to- these ghost babies are trying to break from this rock, to thrive, but they can't. They can't be brought from a base which cannot hold them or nurture them physically- but the rock doesn't give up. Or whatever interpretation you wish to take from it. No matter what, I know I found the images haunting.
It re-instilled in me how much my life is intertwined in others lives, and how my pain is not just my pain.
And what really kills me is this- this statue no longer exists. It was too large for her to haul, and I did not find out about it until recently (I would have hauled it myself, otherwise). After she completed it for her college course, she had three people help her carry it (it was nearly as big as her) and she threw it in a dumpster on the campus. It no longer exists, except in photographs and memories.
And that seems fitting, in some strange way.
Don't forget to stop by and see what the rest of the class is showing!
Monday, February 22, 2010
My friend had a scare in her first trimester, it turned out to be the normal early cramping you get at around 5 to 6wks. Her visit to the ER confirmed for her that everything was just as it should be, just as they imagined it would be. Life went on happily.
I was, and am, much relieved that their scares turned out to be nothing. I would not wish the horror of a scare on anyone, nor would I wish a miscarriage on anyone either. I can not emphasize how glad I am that their babies were, and are, fine.
But the infertile, the repeat miscarryer in me, can not help but think this one sad little thought,"Why couldn't any of my three scares have been just that- only scares."
It is a hard thought. It stems from a place deep inside of me that can only whimper in lost desire. I had three chances, three possibilities that the bleeding would turn out to be nothing. That the cramping could turn out to be nothing. But of those three scares, they all proved to not be scares at all- they were the beginning of the end, they were my life as I knew it crashing.
It's not fair. But, as I well know, life isn't fair. Therefore it seems incredibly absurd to try and find reason where there is none- yet I say it again, it's not fair. So many people every day have a scare, and so many of us have more than scares, and there are those that cross from one boundary to the next or vice versa- there is no rhyme or reason. I wish there was. I wish I had a free ticket to pregnancy, that I had a free ticket to a carefree pregnancy, free of scares and more than scares, free of death. If life was fair, I'd quite say I deserved those cards by now. I've more than earned it through my suffering. But that's not how life works.
I say it again, I am so happy for them. I truly am. But I can't help but wonder, why- ye gods why- couldn't I be one of them. There were three opportunities for me to join their ranks, but I couldn't for whatever reason. I've never had a scare, I've had losses. Why couldn't I have just had a scare- and nothing more.
I know it's useless to question such things, the past is the past and there's nothing to do about it now except learn from it. What have I learned here though, other than the fact that there is absolutely no point in me trying to get pregnant? I don't know. I am just sorta rambling, trying to find logic in the illogical.
Why do they think I would be interested in the cutest baby photo contest, or that I am a new mom, or a mother looking to go to college? No matter how many times I tell stupid FB that those ads are IRRELEVANT to me, they keep coming back... so now I tell FB that they are OFFENSIVE.
Let's see if that keeps them away, shall we?
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
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.
Monday, February 1, 2010
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.