The Monthly Reminder of My Failure

I think any woman who has dealt with, or is dealing with, infertility can agree that the day your period comes is one of the hardest days of the month.  Not because of the bloating, the cramps, or the crabbiness; but because of what it symbolizes--another month gone by without the prospect of a baby.  For me, it also serves as a reminder of my failure.  And, while I know that my ability to get pregnant isn't in my control, I still feel as though I have somehow failed.  

Even now, when we are no longer receiving infertility treatments, and we are moving towards adoption, I still feel a bit crushed when my "monthly visitor" arrives.  It's like somehow there's a part of me that's still holding out hope--believing that maybe my body will decide to begin working properly and "Aunt Flo" won't come for a visit again.  Logically, I know how unrealistic this is--I know you can't get pregnant when you don't ovulate--but still, once a month, I am crushed.

Some months are worse then others.  The all time low came about a year and a half ago.  I had begun seeing a new doctor who swore that our infertility woes would be solved by simply giving me a higher dosage of Clomid (a drug to induce ovulation).  She felt that my previous doctor hadn't given me a high enough dose and that, by increasing my dosage, I would become pregnant.  She was so confident that she repeatedly told me that she "had a good feeling about this" and "this was gonna be the month".  Her nurse jumped on board too, assuring us that we would be back in a month to verify our positive pregnancy test.  Against my better judgement, I allowed myself to get swallowed up in the anticipation and I got my hopes up--way up.  So, the day my period arrived that month I hit rock bottom.  I cried for days.  It seemed to symbolize not only my failure, but also the fact that we would never have a baby.  I lost all hope.

Obviously, I was eventually able to crawl out of the depths of that dark place, but I must admit that each month, I still catch a glimpse of that darkness.  "Aunt Flo" came to visit me this past week and I found myself sitting in the bathroom crying once again.  I struggle to fully grasp the reason for my tears--knowing that we are in the midst of an adoption, I feel confident that we will, one day, have a baby.  I hope that when that time comes,  I will no longer find myself sprawled on bathroom floor each month.  But, who knows.  I suppose I may always feel this deep sense of loss and each month I will be forced to grieve that loss.  As with any loss, the grief gets easier to cope with and the pain does dissipate.  Nowadays, instead of lasting for days, my sadness generally only last a few hours after "Aunt Flo" arrives.  I am able to remind myself of all of the blessings in my life and to move on with my day.  Granted, the pain doesn't ever completely go away, but the debilitating sadness seems to have diminished.

Maybe I am Not so Crazy!!!

Before I met the women in my infertility support group I thought I was insane, completely nuts.  I think many of the women in the group felt the same way about themselves.  Realizing that I wasn't as nuts as I thought I was one of the many blessings these women brought into my life.

I remember walking though the mall with Mark about two years ago and saying, "If I see one more pregnant woman, I think I am going to scream!"  Okay, so maybe this wasn't just one time, maybe it's every time we go to the mall and maybe once or twice there was a comment about going a little further than just screaming!!  See what I mean about being a little crazy?!?

I don't think my fertile friends get how painful it is to see pregnant women or women with new babies, so I try to keep these comments to myself.   I don't want everyone else in the world to know what a lunatic I am.  But all of my craziness came spewing out in the first meeting of my infertility support group, and to my surprise every single woman in the group had experienced the same feelings.  One of the women even admitted to not having gone to the mall for over a year because she just couldn't deal with it.  For some reason, hearing this was like a huge weight being lifted off of my shoulders.  I think knowing that what I was feeling was "normal" made me feel a little less alone in this journey.

I don't know why the mall is one of the most painful places to go.  Perhaps it is because of the army of strollers coming at you as you walk through the mall or the protruding bellies that seem to appear on every-other woman you see.  Or, maybe it is the ominous play area that reminds me what a failure my ovaries have been to me.  I long to be the woman strolling through the mall, going into Motherhood Maternity and picking out a cute new outfit to accentuate my blossoming belly.  I long to be pushing a stroller with my beautiful bundle of joy inside.  Instead, I am bombarded with constant reminders of all the things I will probably miss out on because of my bum ovaries.

For women who have been given the dreaded diagnosis (infertility), being surrounded by pregnant women can be painful.   For me, I don't know that it is as much about jealousy as it is about being reminded that I may never get to experience the joy of being pregnant or having a baby.  Some of the things I grieve I know seem silly to the everyday Fertile Myrtle.  I grieve not getting to feel a baby move inside me, I grieve not getting to experience childbirth, I grieve not getting to breastfeed.  But it's not just the physical stuff.  It's the silly little things like not getting to give my baby a bath or go to a parent-teacher conference. 

Another item on the list of things I grieve is never getting to have a baby shower.  The dreaded baby shower.  I think any infertile woman can relate to the pain of the baby shower.  In fact, my infertile friends and I have spent many hours exchanging excuses to use to get out of having to go to baby showers.  Now, it's not that we don't love our fertile friends--we do.  It is simply that spending two hours gushing over how wonderful it is to be pregnant and what a joy the new baby will be is like a knife to the heart of the infertile woman.  OUCH!  Sitting as the mom-to-be opens all of her adorable gifts always brings a tear to my eye because I know that that will probably never be me.  As much as I want to rejoice about my friend's impending miracle, the bigger part of my wants to go home, crawl under the covers, and cry about hole in my heart/uterus that is never going to be filled.

About a year ago, during a conversation about a baby shower, I said that I just can't do it (throw or attend another shower) and the response I got was, "You are going to have to get over it someday."  I know I can't expect the average Fertile Myrtle to understand but in that moment, I wasn't able to find my voice and explain why it is so painful to watch "everyone" around me having babies while I am left with a barrage of shots, medications, and unfulfilled dreams. 

I have to say, that three years into this journey, it is getting better and I am slowly finding my voice.  Most days I can handle the mall and maybe even a baby shower here and there.  I still have days where I just can't handle looking at another preggo or seeing facebook posts about my friends' kids, but I suppose I have developed better coping skills as time has gone on.  I am more aware of my feelings and know when I need to shut of the computer or not answer a call from a fertile friend.  And, I have learned that it is okay to just send a gift and skip the baby shower.  I need to take care of me and part of that is knowing and naming my boundaries.  It is often hard to draw those lines but take it from this line-drawing lady, creating boundaries helps cut back on those tear-filled days spent curled up under the covers.

Thanks!!

This evening I sent out emails to my friends and co-workers about the blog and have gotten a great response!  Thank you everyone for all of your support.

I am especially grateful to Stacey Pawlak, the therapist at the fertility clinic at the University Hospital.  She has added the link to my blog to the hand-out she gives to her infertility patients!

Thanks for helping me get the word out!

In the beginning.....

My husband, Mark, and I have been on quite the journey over the past three year.  After a long struggle with trying to get pregnant, we now find ourselves in the midst of a new journey--the journey to adoption.

It all started when we decided to try to have a baby 3 years ago.  We tried....and tried....and tried.  And, obviously, nothing happened.  So, we began pursuing infertility treatment.  That was a long, painful, and inevitably, fruitless endeavor.  In the midst of the infertility battle we got licensed for foster care/adoption through the state and took a little boy who we thought was going to be the answer to our prayers.  In the end, it didn't work out and we were left to grieve yet another loss.  Also, in the midst of treatments, I started an infertility support group.  Through the group, I connected with several amazing, strong, and determined women who helped me down my path.

And, here we are today...after lots of failed attempts at starting a family, we have finally turned to a private adoption agency.  For the first time in three years, we are at peace with where we are in our journey.  We are working with an agency in Chicago, Adoption Link, and are so blessed to have found them.  Finding an agency that was in-line with our beliefs and convictions was difficult but finding Adoption Link has been a miracle.  We have an incredible worker who is responsive and caring and we are confident that we are exactly where we should be.

I am starting this blog for many reasons...

First of all, just to write.  This journey has been hard and painful and I have found that "talking" about it has helped me in ways that I never imagined it could.

Second, I am writing because my friends and family members are always asking where we are in the process, so I figured this would be a good forum to keep people informed.

But, most importantly, I am hoping my blog can reach people who are silently dealing with infertility.  As I settled into my infertility diagnosis, I began talking.  And, as I began talking, I found so many women who had been suffering silently and who felt isolated and alone.  Most statistics say that 2.1 million women in the US experience infertility.  Chances are someone you know is silently suffering--maybe your sister, your cousin, or even your best friend.  I want to break down the shrouds of silence and talk about it.  Women need to know that they are not alone.

Also, along the way, I have found that people don't know what to say to those they love who are dealing with infertility.  I hope to give some suggestions and support to those who love someone with infertility.