Driven to Distraction

They say that there are some babies who never really crawl, they just go from sitting to walking one day. That's not a good thing. They found that these children, as they grow older, tend to not fight battles they can't win. They grow frustrated with obstacles that don't come fairly easily to them. They sometimes lack frustration tolerance. They excel but pick their battles.

I didn't crawl much.

I think this is part of the reason I was so hesitant to start infertility treatment. If it was a matter of working hard to get it, I could sign on for that but I wanted to know steps 1,2 and 3 would lead me to my goal. Let me sit back, figure it out, and then I would walk into it. That's not how it works. When you first go to a consult at an infertility doctor's office you don't know what your journey will be. You don't know if you're one of the easy ones who gets pregnant after a first and simple try or if you will be the woman who needs 3 costly cycles of In Vitro Fertilization (IVF) or if, no matter what you try, you will not carry your own child, or, perhaps my greatest fear, you will miscarry, maybe even more than once.

So, I hesitated, for fear that I would become one of the women who was fighting the infertility battle for years.

Because I know myself. I know that if I throw myself in, I am ALL IN.

Also, at some point along the way, I decided that I wouldn't make choices based on fear. I would use fear as a warning if necessary but that it would not be the ultimate reason I did or did not do something. And so we moved forward. A life worth living requires courage.

But this is what I was afraid of.

To allow just one dream to consume you is dangerous, risky. Your perspective is lost.

And, if I'm honest, all I am doing is waiting until I can be pregnant. I AM READY to have a baby, children, a family of my own, and, until that point, everything else is simply meaningless, white noise. I know, in reality, that it is not, but I can't feel it.

I know the work I do is important. I know I will miss my freedom. I know I will hate morning sickness. I know I will be awful without sleep. I know I should be enjoying myself. I know I should be grateful.

But, I can't.

I'm tried desperately to keep myself occupied, entertained, distracted, happy, appreciative so that I would not feel the emptiness in everything else in the time between now and when I could have a baby.

But, I just can't.

I need the next chapter to begin.

The distractions DO work for a little bit. I'm not pretending to be anything I'm not when out with friends or family. The relief just doesn't last long.

And then I get afraid that I have placed WAY TOO MUCH on this child I hope to have. And what a terrifying idea that is, that this little bundle of joy will be responsible for lifting me from my depression and solve all of my problems. Cause that's how it works right? No, I know that is fucking sick.

But, here's the thing. I was not a depressed person who needed something to fill a void and decided it was a child. I was pretty content until I allowed myself to be honest about my hopes for a family, until we threw ourselves into this fight we didn't know we would win. I knew the risk of opening myself up to this, to investing my thoughts, energy, time, and health, to fully look my desire in the face and accept I can't do this on my own, that this isn't going to work naturally for us. I knew this could make me crazy.

And it has.

This desire comes from such a deep and primal place. I can't truly compare it to anything else.

And I wonder if I have blown it all out of proportion.

But then I see families together. I see mothers being mothers and think, "No. If you're going to lose your mind, this is a good reason to do it."

So forget losing 10 more pounds or learning to sew or making a new recipe. I'll do it if the mood strikes. I've been trying to care about other things but I just don't.

This child I hope to have is my marathon and, my God, will you see tears if I make it to the finish line.

Before I Formed You, I Knew You.

A blast of water was sent
Down your painted lips
And caught below
By tissues taped,
Dutifully changed
By a child much like you.

I have heard
There are cracks in the earth
And a floor of glass
Where we can stand
As if suspended
And be small together;
Although, I will be big enough.

There are many books
Preserving images
Of fascinating people
Waving
Clasping
Gesturing
With hands like yours
And your grandmother's
And mine.

There are lessons
Unnecessary to learn
Penance already paid.

Yet I simply cannot force you
To make the journey
From the wood floor
Where I brushed your plastic strands
Or the edge of a world wonder,

I cannot coerce you to exist
So that you may sleep against my chest
Or have my father's eyes,

Yet, before I formed you,
I knew you,

And our estrangement
Is often more than I can bear.

Infertility

This isn't the kind of story you can pick up in the middle and the full length of it is just too long.

So. I'll try to be brief.

For a long time, we stayed quiet about it. I think, for me, it was for fear of how others may feel and, in some way, I wanted to manage their response.

(Reference: Ill-advised, ranting email I sent to closest friends, who love me most, telling them how to handle me. Sigh.)

This topic is like a spot on my heart, that people and life, inadvertently and blamelessly, thump over and over again. Most of the time, I flex, take my hit and move on, but there are times when I'm tired and beaten. Each thump is entirely tolerable on it's own, but it bruises and tears and wounds after a while. Then I isolate, heal and reemerge to take another lickin'. And there are moments, when we are in the process, and the hope that THIS time it worked, keeps you very, very strong...until it doesn't.

Tim and I have completed 3 IUIs, which is a procedure meant to get me pregnant.

All three have failed. I discovered the last one failed today.

There have been countless shots, blood tests, sonograms, pills, acupuncture appointments, hours away from work, and time spent hoping. One test caused me to pass out from pain, but at least the results showed no problems.

In this process, I've learned that I'm not alone. There are many women who struggle with this issue. Many who achieve what they want via a means that no one ever hopes for. The question at the moment is when is enough enough? How far are we willing to go? And at this moment, I don't know.

As a person who had no interest in children at one point, who thought it would all be easy once I did and who shook my head wondering why it was SO important for women in my position to conceive a child, I understand how hard it is for others to understand where we're coming from or what we're dealing with. That's okay. I hope you never have to understand.

I just decided I didn't want to be quiet about it anymore. I don't want to talk about it all the time, but I'm over feeling like there is something intrinsically wrong with me or us. This is just our battle at the moment and since my reading audience is small and few, I figured if you cared enough to read, you may also care about what we're going through.

I also wanted to write this, just in case, God forbid you or your partner find yourself in the same position. The reason I was willing to get help in the first place was because someone was open enough to tell me what she had been through.

We will regroup and decide what we will do next summer and hopefully learn more about why things aren't currently working. In the meantime, I just thought it would be nice not to keep it a secret anymore.

Thanks for reading.

Much Love and Merry Christmas,

Elizabeth