I am all for saving the environment. I love the song, “Reduce, Reuse, Recycle” by
Ja.ck Johnson. Min man knows when to put things in our recycle bin, and I always make a point to bring my reusable shopping bags to the store.
What I don’t like is the fact I am now experiencing a bit of deja vu in the form of old emotions drying up my existence. These are emotions that have run through me, run over me, and run my life. Is it possible to feel the same amount of pain due to infertility all over again? Better still, is it possible to feel a more intense pain? I didn’t think so. But after feeling quite shitty for a few weeks, the emotions spilled over in the past few days and my mood has plummeted.
Sadness, feeling helpless due to my inability to conceive, grieving over not having the number of children I long for, never experiencing pregnancy to term, and not being able to give Min man a sibling. Seeing pregnant women, families with more than one child, women walking their babies together in strollers, posts on face.book, pregnancy and birth announcements are all tough again. I wonder if I have simply been suppressing my inner desire to scoff at all of these things and now I am burnt out. At this time I may not be able to hide the fact that I am bitter.
My analytical side wants an answer. If I figure out a reason for this overwhelming sadness, maybe it will go away.
In part I feel alone in my sadness again. I find it hard to tell anyone how bad I still feel about infertility when I have such a beautiful son. I meant every word when I said I would never change one thing about the four years of trying to conceive because it led us to adopting Min man. I’m really not sure people will understand why I am still grieving. I also feel uncomfortable talking to most women because I don’t want to make them feel bad. By this point most people I know have two children if not more. I do not want to put them in an awkward position. And I certainly do not want pity.
Putting away Min man’s high chair, changing table, onesies, and cutesy clothes from last summer has been very difficult because I cannot help but wonder, will I ever need to use these things again? How long should we hang on to these baby items before we know there will be no other babies in this house? My heart hurts. All over again my heart hurts so badly that the tears well in my eyes several times a day.
I thought I had this figured out. I became a mom through adoption. I love our family. I started a non-profit to channel my energies and experience in order to help others. I lived by the mantra that everything works out the way it is supposed to. Why has that mentality slipped?
I don’t want all of these emotions back and being reused and recycled. How about reduce- REDUCE.
I just want to know why I cannot have a baby. Why?
Is it really never going to happen for me? Will I be 50 and still feeling sad I never was able to experience pregnancy? I will never have that connection with my child, feel my body change, anticipate the birth and be with my baby the instant they breath? Will I always have to avoid conversations about labor, breast feeding, and cute maternity clothes?
Lately I cannot fathom how we would have a second child. Nearly 3 years into our international adoption we are still waiting for INS clearance for Min man to go across the border (gov’t red tape that cost us another $400). Coming up with a plan to do any adoption seems extremely daunting and the cost would put off many plans we have for our house. That’s a great choice- brand new kitchen or child? Why do we have to make these decisions? Domestic adoption is wonderful but would be brand new to us. Anything brand new is scary and we have been through so much. ART? Ugh. The time, money, emotional roller coaster- none are appealing and there is not a strong enough pull mentally to move forward with medical assistance on a pro/con list. I feel stuck. Options, yes. But not the options I really want.
2 more babies and yes, maybe even a mini-van. New baby wearing Min-man’s hand-me-down jammies and socks. New baby riding on his beloved bus that now sits in the attic. New baby…
I feel very empty when I hear names that would be great for another child. I am a big name person. When I was younger writing my stories, I toiled over the character’s names. A name makes a person. I have several names tucked away for a boy or girl. They have been on my mind for seven years. Every once in a while I would think of something new and reorganize the list. Trying not to hold on to the names any longer, I find myself with a pang of solace when I hear a great name for a future child. Why torture myself further? I tell people my names now. Maybe they can use them.
Because of what I am trying to do for others I should be in a better position mentally. Maybe I am wrong about that. I know that part of why PFM has helped many people is because of my ability to understand and relate or at the very least empathize. I hope it is not a disappointment that I too struggle almost daily with infertility and how it has changed me. I hope that people who look to me for hope do not want to close out of my blog and never return. Who needs one more reminder that this sucks?
I wonder if this rekindling of feelings is a form of shell shock. There has been several years to reflect on the devastation of our experience. Emotions and thoughts I could not bear to feel may now be surfacing. There is only so much disappointment and anguish one person can take. Last night it occurred to me that I have created life with my husband. Yes, they were only a few days old but they existed. They could have been a real live baby. We have six lost embryos that lived for days, a week?, and in one case, seven weeks in my body until we had to terminate the pregnancy.
Not thinking clearly acting all on emotion I frantically searched through boxes in our attic to find the picture of our embryos. I could hardly see I was crying so hard. I knew I had saved one of the pictures. After rummaging through several of my memory boxes there they were. The 3 beautiful embryos we created on our first official IVF cycle dated June 2006. I was so relieved that I did not throw the picture away out of sadness and anger. Because in that picture is the embryo that I carried for seven weeks. My only official pregnancy. Perhaps the only time I will ever be able to feel my abdomen and whisper the words, “I’m pregnant.”
Grief does not cease. It is an emotion that resides under the skin, at the nape of the neck, and within the heart. Knowing I have to learn to live with this grief seems impossible at times. I want peace with this portion of my life. Peace in understanding the big picture.
