Missed the Train

First I just want to say thanks for all the kind words everyone left on my last, last post. It meant a lot to know that you all care.

Michael and I are doing alright, still processing things and trying to make sense of everything that has been happening lately.

We had many good, tearful talks. Shared with each other how tired we are of fighting to become parents, but we don't feel like that fight is over.

For some reason the discussion briefly came back to trying again, but only briefly. If we were to start trying again, we would have no choice but to do IVF. But making a rash decision like going back to treatment at the cusp of dealing with our grief, is not wise, so we decided to stick with the adoption.

I told Michael that I feel like I somehow missed the train when it came time to trying to have a baby, and now every time it comes by, it passes me at 200mph and I'm unable to jump on it.

Its been eight years since I chucked the birth control pills and we decided to start TTC. Its been four years since we started treatments. Three years since the ectopic ruptured my tube, further complicating our chances. Two years since our second miscarriage and when we decided to stop treatments. One year since we decided to pursue domestic infant adoption. And one month since our last match fell apart.

And in all that time my friends have gone on to have their second, third and fourth child.

I hate how lonely IF makes me feel. I know I'm not all alone. I'm so grateful to have Michael walking this rocky road with me. It just seems like such an unfair task, and no one can tell me why we have to be the ones walk the road of IF.

I don't really feel like I can talk to anyone about it either. Sure I have friends that will listen to me, but sometimes I don't wish to talk to them about the horrible IF thoughts that are raging through my brain.

I don't think they want to hear that a majority of the time I feel like its my fault we can't have children, and because I can't get pregnant, I feel useless. I don't think they want to hear that because everything feels so out of control in my life, that the only thing I can control is what I put in mouth...or don't.

Why I Had Kept My Infertility a Secret

At first it wasn't intentional. We were excited that we had finally made the decision to try for a baby, but since nothing had happened yet, it wasn't worth sharing with people.

Time had passed, a year, maybe three and the exhilaration of trying to make a baby had become excruciatingly painful as each month passed and nothing. Nothing to show for our efforts but resentment as we had become aware that biology had failed us. Three years had passed and not one positive test. It was clear we had a problem, but who wants to admit to people, much less themselves, that they are having trouble getting pregnant? We sure didn't.

People began to think, as we reached the fifth year mark in our marriage, that we needed them to remind us that it was time for us to start making a family. Little did they know that we had been trying to start one for three years. It was these people that told us to "just relax", "don't think about it", "have some wine" It was then that we realized we didn't need the added grief, we didn't yet even have a diagnosis. No, best to keep this to ourselves. It was none of their business anyways.

A few people knew of our infertility struggles, our parents and our best friends. We had felt that was enough people to share our secret with. Because that's what it was...a secret. And keeping secrets takes a lot of work.

I know for me there was a shame factor involved in keeping our infertility to myself. I was ashamed that I was different from the rest of my friends. I was ashamed that my body couldn't or wouldn't do what it was supposed to do. So I kept that shame to myself.

There was also pain that accompanied the shame. A pain my friends couldn't understand because I wouldn't share it with them assuming they wouldn't be able to understand. Horrible logic, but it was mine. I didn't want to subject them to my pain either so if they asked, I told them. If they didn't, I once again kept the pain and the shame of my secret to myself.

I often found that when a person doesn't know what to say when they hear you are having trouble conceiving a child they usually say the wrong thing or worse give you a useless platitude that is about as useful as a chocolate teapot.

Then the ectopic happened, and it was a bit harder to keep our secret from people as I ended up in the ER and then rushed into emergency surgery. Our "just an ovulation problem" was made more complicated with the removal of my right tube. But still I didn't talk about it.

I realized in hindsight that it would have benefited me to be a bit more honest with people. But considering how emotionally fragile I was in regards to my IF and the trauma of the ectopic, it was less painful to keep quiet rather then open myself up to horrible comments and advice.

I didn't even tell people I would soon face my fears and learn how to give myself shots for our next phase of treatment: injections.

I didn't want to say anything to anyone until I saw a positive pregnancy test, or held my baby in my arms.

When our last IUI resulted in a chemical pregnancy it also marked the end of us seeking further IF treatment and activly trying to have a child of our own. It was then that we realized that we could no longer keep our IF a secret. It was a heartbreaking time for both of us and we needed the support of others.

I only just started sharing our story. Its been a scary and yet helpful process. It hasn't been easy opening myself up to people, but I no longer carry the burden of my secret on my shoulders.

I've also learned that not everyone deserves to hear our story in detail as I still run into people who think its a wonderful joke calling me a D.I.N.K or a 'Woman of Leisure' because we don't yet have children. Or assume that because I've been married 9 years and don't yet have children, means that I don't want children. That is probably the worst obstacle I've run into lately, assumptions, but best save that for a different post.

I'm no longer ashamed of my IF, because I've come to the conclusion that its a part of who I am, not what I am. IF still sucks, that hasn't changed, but its shaped me into the person that I am and I'm not going to hide who I am anymore.

I spent 6 1/2 years hiding and keeping secrets and I'm tired.

To Try or Not To Try...

...that is the question.

For the last couple of weeks I've been struggling with whether I want to try again or not.  *sigh*.  It seems like such an easy and natural thing that my body should be able to do, but it can't...or won't. I haven't decided on which yet.

I've been taking this stuff called Fertilaid for the last six months. I'm taking it for the vitamin benefits rather than the conceiving benefits. (but if they help us conceive then, yay!) For the most part it keeps my cycles regular, when I remember to take the pills. I'm the worst pill taker in history and there are 3 that must be taken daily. Some days I forget to take it and other days I don't remember that I have taken it. Each month I tell myself that I will remember to take the pills every day.

Since starting to take the Fertilaid I've been tempted to see if its actually working - meaning if I'm actually ovulating. I'm not going to lie. I do get a little excited at the prospect of the Fertilaid actually working. Because if it is working...I can try to get pregnant without the help of daily injections of fertility drugs, bloodwork, ultrasounds and doctor's appointments. I can try to get pregnant the normal way.

But in the midst of the daydreams...reality strikes and the tears soon follow as all the disappointments of trying come to the surface.

I'm reminded that I've been trying to get pregnant for the last six and a half years. I have only one tube near an ovary that isn't dominate. I've only ever been pregnant through medical intervention. I don't ovulate on my own, and because I have PCOS 50% of my eggs are probably bad. Suddenly, the concept of trying doesn't feel so easy or inviting. Not trying feels like the saner, safer option.

All this 'try or not try' thinking had totally overtaken my thoughts leaving no room to focus on adoption. I realized that I didn't even want to have anything to do with it, which made me feel...awful and ungrateful. Ungrateful of a miracle that God probably has waiting for us through adoption.

I had wanted something to focus my mind on...besides adoption, but I had picked the one thing that I had been trying to let go of since September.

So I'm back on the adoption train.

I don't know if I'll ever really get over the concept of not trying, but I can move on from that way of thinking. Because getting over and moving on are two totally different things.