Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Oh solace, where art thou?

I haven't posted here in eight months. Why? We haven't been cycling. Not actively trying. Doing nothing. And so nothing's happened.

We've had review appointments and discussions about what might be next. We've talked about whether it's time to stop altogether or whether we give it one more go. We've heard the doctor tell us that it's still a mystery why last time didn't work - why seven good eggs and 80 million great sperm didn't make even one measly embryo that could get where it needed to go and stay there.

And in the meantime, nothing about the way I feel about this constant failure has changed.

Every day I tell myself that it's getting better. That I am starting to come around to the concept of living a childless existence. That there are benefits I should grab on to (and hold on to) with all my might - the ability to sleep in, go away for a weekend, have extra money for ourselves, not have to race against the clock for day care pick up, the general lack of shit and puke...

...but it's not enough.

It doesn't sustain me for long. And once again, I'm lost. Cast adrift. Caught in this horrible place between people who have a family and, well...


One by one, people who I've come to know and love through this struggle are actually realizing their dreams. They're finally pregnant or have that dream child after years of pain, loss and heartache.

But I'm still here. Watching from the sidelines. Wishing so desperately that it would at long last be my turn to join them. Deliriously happy for them, and bone crushingly sad to be left behind.

Because truly, there aren't a lot of people still with me. Which only reinforces my notion that I'm destined to be on this side of the statistics for all time. 'Cause hey, with everyone else getting to the other side of infertility, someone has to be on that 'it just never happened' side. And here I sit.

I want to try again. So badly. I'd try again a thousand times over if the funds were there. But they're just not. And time is increasingly slipping away from me as well. I'll be 38 this August, and since I've seen my overall ability to respond to meds and produce eggs do nothing but decrease over time, how much worse will it be this go around if we do decide to move forward? Are we just throwing money away because I can't wrap my brain around the fact that kids were not meant to be a part of my life?

But how can I just surrender to a universe so fucked up and unfair as to create this reality for me?

All my life, if I wanted something I went for it, and I got it. I put the effort in. I worked hard. I was dedicated. I could make things happen. I would get what I want.

But this time - nope. All the tries in the world have left me with nothing but debt and the memories of a miscarriage that will never leave me. How cruel, to be tortured with the possibility of success, to see that elusive second pink line, just to have it all be ripped away from us weeks later? To see the flicker of a little heartbeat on an ultrasound screen and know that that child would never come to be? That that was as close as I would ever get to being a parent?

And how cruel that when I finally saw that stick turn pink I had less than 24 hours to enjoy the thought of being pregnant? Yup, got my positive test at 7pm and started spotting the next morning at 9am. Had blood work done at 11am that told me the pregnancy was in jeopardy, and things just went downhill from there.

14 hours. In almost seven years of trying, countless cycles, well over $40,000 invested, I got a mere 14 hours of joy.

In case you can't tell, I'm feeling very sorry for myself right now. ;) I'm sitting here at home, alone, bawling my eyes out, and I wish I could say this was a rare occurrence. But with each day that passes, each day I waffle about whether we're done or we have one more try, my grief at what it seems we'll never have only swells. Which sucks, 'cause I'd really rather hoped it would be the reverse...that time would grant me the permission I seem to need to find a peace out of all of this.

But there's no peace. No solace. Just tears and a heavy, fragile, empty heart.

I just want to find a way back to okay. To be happy. To find joy. To not shudder when I hear someone announce that they're pregnant. To not feel the evil stabs of jealousy just from being around people and their children. To find a way to finally come to terms with what seems like an inevitability for me.

But I don't know how. I can't see it. And to make matters worse, what if trying (and failing) again this summer just pushes me further away from okay than I already am? Should I even go into a cycle, possibly our last, with such a defeatist attitude?

But how can I not when failure is all I know?

'Cause let's face it, 14 hours of unadulterated joy ain't nearly enough to poke holes in the darkness that is almost seven years of failure.

Cathartic yet exceedingly self indulgent post over.

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